


With the Blink of an Eye You Finally See the Light

by Nina36



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Lucifer whump, Post s2e13, Slow Burn, WIP, chloe wump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9565475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina36/pseuds/Nina36
Summary: Post Episode for 2x13: Lucifer has made a choice, God has a plan; dreams, visions, angels and fate are all giving him a clue.Or are they?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Lucifer has won me over.  
> [1] Duma - angel prince of dreams
> 
> [2] Dardariel - ruling angel of the eleventh hour
> 
> [3] Halaliel - archangel known as "the lord of karma.
> 
> [4] Iaoel - an angel of the lord; angel of visions  
> Title of the fan-fic taken from "Amazing" by Aerosmith

_You have to learn to crawl_ __  
Before you learn to walk  
But I just couldn't listen to all that righteous talk, oh yeah  
I was out on the street,  
Just a tryin' to survive  
Scratchin' to stay alive

_Amazing (Aerosmith)_

 

* * *

 

It was God’s plan  - and God worked in mysterious ways.

Lucifer had heard it all before – oh, did he ever!

Unlike what was commonly thought and written about him and his fall, he did _not_ hate his Father. Angry, furious, hurt, humiliated, scorned?  Yes, all of that and more. He had never hated Him, however.

He had hated being in hell, he had hated being made into the bad guy, the scapegoat for humans that failed to understand that they had been gifted with something unique: free will and most of them failed to understand the single concept that just because one had free will and could do whatever they wanted it did not mean that they could or should abuse that freedom.

 And, above all, one should always, always own their mistakes.

Even his Father.

Of all the things – being shunned from home, being torn apart from his family, being made into the stuff of nightmares, the last thing He had done took the bloody cake.

Chloe.

He had created her – made her into a bloody miracle and put her on his path to – do what, exactly? Making him vulnerable? Have a good jolly laugh as he made a fool of himself?  Teach him another bloody lesson? Showing, once again, how they were all pawns and it did not matter what they did, how hard they tried, how open and raw they were with their hearts?

He was done.

And it was for the best, really – for Chloe, for Trixie, for Dan;  they would be a family again. Detective Douche – no, Dan – was a passably good man: he made mistakes, but he was not evil and he loved his ex wife and daughter.

And it was better for him, too.

Chloe was human. Chloe was mortal. He was not. He was the devil. The Devil did not fall in love; the devil did not – do _feelings._

 “Nice try, Father,” He muttered.

  He didn’t look back twice as he drove away from Los Angeles.

If it was supposed to be a lesson – well, he had learned it.

 

* * *

 

 

His son never, ever, __learned his lesson.

Proud, bullheaded and insecure.

Lucifer genuinely believed that Chloe Jane Decker was His way to mess with him, to play a game.

His boy would not listen to reason (when did he ever), he would be plot a revenge that would lead absolutely nowhere and end up hurting him.

Which was exactly what Lucifer wanted. Did he think He didn’t know? Did Lucifer genuinely think that moment itself wasn’t part of the plan?

Wait – what? Was he getting married to a stripper?

Her name was Candy? Seriously?

His favorite son sure loved to live the clichés. Even now, however, his heart shone brightly for Him to see. And there was a tear in it, a name carved in it as soft and delicately as a gossamer’s web: Chloe Decker.

But seriously, though: Candy? Free will had _never_ meant being stupid. On that, he wholeheartedly agreed with His son. 

Perhaps – no, scratch that; he _needed_ to have a chat with Duma.

Michael was silently wondering why wasn’t he doing something about _other_ matters. He was not questioning Him. Michael was loyal, he was a warrior and still loved Lucifer. They all did, after all.

“It is all connected,” He said, answering to what was in His son’s grace and heart.

“Yes, Father,” Michael replied.

Lucifer believed – and His wife had not helped matters – that He had wanted to punish him for questioning Him. He believed he had been made into a torturer for questioning His choices, for asking questions.

His beloved son couldn’t be more wrong. Lucifer – Samael, had been the only one He had trusted with understanding the price of free will. And he had, hence his role in hell: punishing evil. His son had done a remarkably good job, he had been the only one who could. He had always been exceptionally smart. 

Except now, apparently. Bloody, bullheaded _child_!

Duma, yes. Dardariel, Halaliel, Laoel – oh, well …time for a family meeting, He supposed.

He loved his children, all of them. He did not particularly want His creation to end because Lucifer was throwing a tantrum.

 

* * *

 

“This is real, isn’t it?” Lucifer had asked.

She had believed him. For the first time in her life since her father’s death, her defenses had been non-existent. She had believed in the hesitant tone in his voice, in the softness of his touch – it had been almost reverent.

She had believed him, when their foreheads had touched and he had smiled and had looked genuinely, truly _happy_ as if he was lucky and she was more than a warm body and another way to prove his sexual prowess.

She had believed him when she had felt his lips on the crown of her head and had heard how fast his heart was beating.

Yes. She had nodded her head, she had wanted to say it aloud, she had felt safe in his arms, she had felt relieved, floored that he was okay, that he had not died, that she had not lost him.

Real. Yes. It had been real, it was – even now. Even if he had left without saying goodbye, without explanations, without –

She drew in a breath. It was for the best, she tried to rationalize, even if she was acutely aware of the tears welling up her eyes and how much her throat hurt for stifling a sob. Or a dozen.

 She allowed the tears to fall. Why not?  She would put up walls again, after. She would take what happened as a cautionary tale, as a warning – she would do her job, raise his daughter, live her life – she would scoff at those moments down the line, thinking about how utterly naïve and stupid she had been, how careless.

It would happen, she knew herself; but for now there were tears, there was the phantom feeling of Lucifer holding her, cradling her head as she fought not to lose consciousness, the ghost of his smiles, the smell of the sea, as he – told her he was not worthy of her, while telling her exactly why he was and why, for a moment, she had not felt worthy of him.

Yes. She had believed it was real. She still did. That was why it hurt so damn much.

 

* * *

 

He could not see the dreams. He just unlocked what was in people’s souls. Nowadays they called it subconscious.

Whatever: a rose by any other name and all that human jazz.

Duma was the angel of dreams. Dreams were a gift from Father. Dreams were the way people’s souls and hearts were allowed to cope with their lives. The texture of dreams was and had always been fascinating to him; it was one of the most beautiful things Father had created.  Dreams, for some people, were the conduit, the moment where the veil became so thin that one could communicate with the dead, with the divine or have glimpses of the future (that last thing was a bit trickier and it involved his siblings’ contribute and Father’s approval, but that was beside the point).

Fascinating, truly. It also kept him very busy.

Usually, it took a blink of his eyes, a twitch of his hand to get the ball rolling, so to speak. His brother, however, was _not_ most people. What Lucifer and him did, their gift from Father, was similar, in a way: they both had access to the innermost desires of people; the only difference was in the way the gift was used.

They both had a job to do and they both did it. Semantics was not something he concerned himself with.

Lucifer was asleep; the human sleeping next to him was no concern of his. Well – yes, she had dreams and they were so utterly dull that he rolled his eyes a little at them. He could not see the dreams people had, but the impression of them, the emotions connected to them never failed to reach him.

Dull. Yes. Unbelievably so. The mortal woman sleeping next to Lucifer was no concern of his, however.

The devil, the light bringer, the fallen angel, the favorite son, his brother dreamed. He did not remember his dreams; Lucifer would probably throw a hissy fit if he knew or suspected that Father had asked him of that. It was not a punishment, it was – a way to protect him, a gift. How many times could his brother relive the heartbreak of the Fall, the pain of it before it consumed him completely? Father had let him cut off his wings (his brother was a bloody drama queen!), He let him coexist with the phantom pain of it, with the physical pain his body constantly experienced because of that, but He protected Lucifer’s heart.

He sighed. He did not have much time before Lucifer realised he was there, and that would make for an awkward family reunion.

He touched Lucifer’s foot. He did not need to have a more direct contact. That would do.

“Dream, brother mine!” He said.

He felt the energies changing, the veil falling. He sighed. Time to visit a LAPD detective.

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he landed (symmetry: every fall had to end with a landing; everything had its purpose even if, for the life of him, he did not understand his Father’s plans, or he hated them,) that time it was not in the Pit. There was no pitch black darkness around him, it was not Dante’s inferno – interesting lad, that Italian fellow – or the labyrinth of eternal damnation and custom made torture chambers he had built over time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, bookmars and feedbacks!!:)  
> Italics are dreams and visions

_I kept the right ones out_  
And let the wrong ones in  
Had an angel of mercy to see me through all my sins  
There were times in my life  
When I was goin' insane  
Tryin' to walk through  
The pain

_Amazing (Aerosmith)_

 

“He left,” Amenadiel said. It was a statement, but also a question with a healthy dose of, “what the hell?”,  in all honesty, she could relate. 

“Yep!” Mazikeen replied with a shrug of her shoulders.  

The angel shook his head and said, “I don’t understand!”

Maze rolled her eyes. Honestly – were all the angels and archangels complete morons or was it just the ones she knew and had had sex with?

“Err…you know that mindfuck your parents played on Lucifer? He’s done with it – gave me the keys to his kingdom and left.” She replied, keeping her voice light.

“But why? He loves Chloe!” Amenadiel replied.

Yeah, being idiots _definitely_ ran in the family, she thought gritting her teeth.

“And daddy dearest put her in his path. Have you met your brother, Amenadiel?” Maze said.

She definitely wasn’t drunk enough for that crap!

She poured herself a glass of vodka and studiously refused to think about the fact that Lucifer had asked her to stay in Los Angeles, to look after “the humans” for him. It hurt. Almost since the very beginning, it had been Lucifer and her, side by side – and loyalty still meant something to her.

“But she _chose_ to fell in love with him!” Amenadiel replied.

He was so – endearingly naïve that if it weren’t for the current situation she would have him, right there on one of the stools.  

But they sort of had a situation.

Yes, Amenadiel was right: Chloe had chosen to fall for Lucifer,  and Lucifer had fallen for Chloe – and it was all fun and games with the possibility of hot sex (and orgasms. Chloe Decker was in desperate need of them) until mommy dearest had fucked with her son’s mind and deepest issues one time too many.

Was it truly a surprise that Lucifer was having that reaction? Did his family know him? At all? Judging by the genuine surprise in the man’s eyes (slash angel slash former lover) definitely not.

Amenadiel shook his head. He was cute – he truly did not understand. And she had not thought that he was cute. Nope. No way.

“What about free will?” Amenadiel asked.

She swallowed her drink and asked, “What about it?”

“Let’s say for the sake of the argument that you are right and this is all the result of a  mindfuck, ok?” Amenadiel said.

She nodded. She wasn’t supposed to find a fallen angel using a swear word so hot, was it? Oh, well…

“Yeah?” She prompted him.

“No one forced Chloe to fall for Luci, Father has a policy about it –“ Amenadiel continued.

“You forgot that Lucifer  thinks it’s all fake.” Mazikeen said.

Amenadiel, wingless angel of the Lord, substitute – sort of – guardian of hell gates, great lay despite his inexperience, actually facepalmed. She wished she had a camera. Lucifer would love that.

If only he replied to her texts.

He mumbled something that she was sure was in either Enochian or Aramaic, that translated along the lines of: “utter idiot who can’t see a good thing if it bites him in the ass!”

Couldn’t say she didn’t agree with that.

“What do we do?” He asked, after a moment. He also ordered a pink martini.

She sighed.

“Not a clue. In case you didn’t notice your brother isn’t easily swayed once he makes up his mind!” She replied.

Pink Martini. Really?

“Where is he?” Amenadiel asked.

She closed her eyes. Loyalty to Lucifer was carved into every bone of her body, it was her – _fuck_ , it was the closest thing she could compare to faith.

But it was more than that: more than eons at his side, more than a blood oath and being the one who had cut off his wings.

Lucifer was – the closest thing she had to a father, a brother, a son. He was her best friend, her fuck buddy, her boss and the most impossible soul she had ever, ever encountered.

“You know how much he loves to live the cliché…” She said. And she knew that Amenadiel would need more than a clue. He was cute and sexy, but he needed prompts sometimes.

Yeah, ok. She thought he was cute and sexy. So fucking what? It was not like she was going anywhere when she bit it.

“You might want to be a bit more specific.” He said.

“Sorry, buddy, can’t say more at the moment. Loyalty actually means something to me.” She replied.

She smirked when she saw that he wanted to threaten her.   
With what, exactly she had no clue, but she gave him a B for the effort.

“I just want to fix this mess!” He said.

“Nice – so go back in time, and avoid your brother feeling fucked over by his family, then.” She said. The bitch of it was that she actually believed him.

Okay, the way he leveled her with a cold gaze was hot – and effective in the sense that she snapped her mouth shut. She had forgot for a moment that he could not do squat. She had not meant to hurt him, but she would be thrice damned before she apologized for that.

“How is Chloe?” He asked after a moment.

“Working, closed off, giving _me_ the cold shoulder as if it was my fault. Peachy, as you would expect!” She scoffed.

Yeah, fuck it! She drank her vodka straight from the bottle.

“Remind me again why you guys didn’t let me eviscerate the bitch from hell?” She asked.

“It’s our mom,” Amenadiel said.

“And he is my goddamn _everything_!” She roared, “And his heart is broken, now!”

Amenadiel looked down, he was genuinely sorry. He loved his brother – and for a reason  that escaped her, he cared about Chloe. They all did – in a way that did not make sense. Well, it did, considering her status as God’s miracle and wrapped gift for His favorite son.

Except that she was more than that; and the fact that Lucifer couldn’t get it into his thick skull was frustrating. And she hated being frustrated.

“Just – stay close to her?” Amenadiel said.

“Duh!” She mumbled.

Lucifer had said the same thing, and her reaction had been the same. Chloe was her friend. Chloe – was interesting: she was a good person and she had not spent eons torturing souls in hell not to recognize good, inherent good when she saw it.

The fact that she also liked her daughter was just an added bonus.

“I’ll see what I can do,” He said.

“Don’t play tricks, not this time!” She warned him.

He smiled and said, “It would help if you told me where he is,”

“I don’t know,” She admitted, “he didn’t tell me. He just said he’d be in touch,”

“But you said he loves living his clichés!” He replied.

She shrugged, “That’s because unlike you I actually know him?” She said.

He shook his head and left.

She took another swig from the vodka bottle and looked upwards, “Not doing your job for you – not helping you! But he _really_ didn’t deserve that on top of the number you had already done on him! And don’t even get me started on Decker!”

Great! She was talking to God. Marvelous!

She hated her life!

 

* * *

 

 

 She was _cute,_ in an absolutely harmless way. She was – good, not in a sickening, mind altering way, just insofar that she would not end up in hell when she died. She was a great lay; not the best he had ever had, but it didn’t matter.

She was – _there_ , she was good in bed, she was plain, dull and disposable.

He had married her while so high and drunk (he had really, _really_ put an effort into it) that he could have married a lamppost.

For a moment, there, he had also genuinely thought about getting married in an actual church, as a big bugger off to his Dad, but he supposed even the devil had his limits.

Candy was – _nice_ , he supposed. He sincerely doubted she gave half a damn about him except for his credit cards and the fact that he was good in the sack. She was just like the others: women and men he had bedded through the years. Empty pleasure. Well, in the end it was better than the alternative, wasn’t it?

He had married her because – because why not, exactly? He could collect wives and husbands as other people collected stamps, if he were so inclined. He liked having a gold band on his finger, however. He liked the weight of that ring and how it was a reminder that he was _done_ with being played by his family.

He had married her because Daddy Dearest had made it impossible for him to break a promise, a vow or a deal. He literally could not. Therefore, he was stuck with a stripper who gave great head and had the depth of a puddle.

Well, at least she _did_ give great head. She truly was remarkable.

He was the Devil – there was a reason if many people thought lawyers were his spawns. He knew each and every loophole. Devil was in the details, wasn’t it?

He was married, now. And wasn’t marriage one of those pesky things Father cared about?  Wasn’t it marriage one of His sacraments? Weren’t wedding vows a big deal for Him? There! He had made a vow, a promise, a deal and he was bound to uphold it. Ah!

He felt the smile on his lips fade. He knew it wasn’t a victory, he knew his Father didn’t care; at the end of the day he was hundreds of miles away from home and it still bloody hurt! Whereas, his Father was – he had no idea where and, as usual, He did not care.

Well, he had survived the fall. He had survived being shunned away from home and being hated by his siblings, he had survived looking like a reject from A Nightmare on Elm Street without all the glam hoopla that allowed him to walk the streets on Earth.

He would and could survive his broken heart. He would – even if it was the last thing he did.

Candy was doing something with her tongue that was positively wicked – and he was bored.

He. Was. Bored.

And tired.

He let out a sigh. It wasn’t Candy’s fault. He had been honest to her – but he knew she either didn’t believe him or she didn’t care because – well, why would she? He was rich, handsome and a good lay. He didn’t like to treat people badly unless they deserved it and Candy was just – a human.

Unlike –

Well, no reason to go there.

Too bad his loins had different ideas.

 _Really?_ One thought, not even fully formed, about Daddy’s gift to him and his loins felt like they were on fire?

That was not fair!

Were all his orgasms ruined for the foreseeable future?

Nevertheless, he went through the motions: climaxing, reciprocating, cuddling, wait for his wife to fall asleep and then stare at the ceiling until he felt his eyes droop.

He ignored the tug at his heart as he felt, for a moment, the feeling of Chloe’s lips on his forehead.

That was preposterous! His heart was broken, wasn’t it? Therefore, how could he feel tugs at it?

He closed his eyes.

 

_The penthouse looked different; that was his first thought as the elevators’ doors opened. It was not just knick-knacks that had not been there when he had left, it wasn’t even the patchwork afghan on the couch – what in Father’s name was that abomination anyway? – it ran deeper._

_It felt warm, cozy, less designer style, all sleek angles and inviting shadows that promised pleasure and more a space lived in, like his favorite Dolce and Gabbana shirt  - and that was truly a terrible comparison._

_It was, nay, it felt like home._

_He could not help smiling a little at that feeling. Home._

_And he categorically refused to even think about the corny quote associated with his thought._

_“Oh, there you are!” Chloe exclaimed. She was – there. Nay, she belonged there, he felt it in every atom of his being. She was smiling, as if she was happy, genuinely, unbearably happy to see him; she was wearing jeans and one of his shirts that was definitely too large on her but part of him, and he truly, really did not want to dwell on whichever it was, was_ _rejoicing at the sight._

_“Where else am I supposed to be?” He heard himself say._

_And – he knew, part of him at least, knew it was not real. It could not be. And yet, it felt real, it felt – like peace._

_She walked toward him, smiling and he truly would go back to hell every day of his life if it meant to see that smile. It was terrifying how much power that woman had over him. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever experienced – and he had hung on the stars, once._

_“I missed you,” She said with a small shrug of her shoulders._

_It was the truth. Chloe never lied. They had that in common, among other things. He smiled, he couldn’t help it. His smiles were always genuine with Chloe._

_“I –“ He said._

_He missed her too. It was the truth. Why could he not say it, then? He had promised her once that he would never lie to her. He was not about to start now._

_She cocked an eyebrow in silent invitation for him to go on talking. And he honestly did not understand why wasn’t he taking her in his arms already. She was home. They both were. She was wearing one of his shirts. Love was shining brightly in her eyes and he was pretty sure that he was sporting a neon sign above his head that read: “I am head over heels in love with Chloe Jane Decker”!_

_A look at his reflected image on one of the surfaces revealed that his true face was not hidden, for once: cruel burns, millennia upon millennia of punishing evil, of being the one who came up with ingenious ways to torture souls were showing on his face, his skin and eyes._

_And yet, Chloe still smiled. She was walking toward him, giddy and flirtatious as she had been the day after they had kissed._

_“Can you see me?” He asked._

_He was supposed to tell her something else, wasn’t he? He was supposed to tell her that he missed her too, that she should be in his arms where she belonged and sod the world._

_He wasn’t, however._

_She nodded at his words._

_“No, I mean – the real me!” He clarified._

_She sighed, shortening the distance between them and he swallowed when he felt her arms circling his neck._

_“Yep! Took me a while, but I do.” She replied. And – it was supposed to be good, right? And yet, he was experiencing the very human, extremely hateful feeling of being on the verge of tears._

_Chloe closed her eyes as she hid her face against his chest. And he did the same._

_And yes, there were tears streaming down his face and they bloody hurt._

_“I miss you,” She said and he could feel her soft, warm breath tickling his chest._

_“Me too.” He said, whispered if he had to be honest._

_That was not real. That could not be real. He was in Las Vegas, sharing his bed with a woman he barely knew and could not care less about._

_He was not with Chloe. He was not holding her in his arms, he was not really savoring her smell: sunlight, strawberries, gun powder and sticky things that reminded him that she was a mother and made her even more endearing to him._

_She was not real. He was not there._

_He was not home._

_He missed her so much that it was breaking his heart all over again even as he held her in his arms._

* * *

 

Trixie was a smart child; she had not asked where Lucifer was and why Maze was spending so much time away from home. She was being extra affectionate, however – hugging her and smiling and not throwing tantrums and Chloe felt guilty.

Weren’t mothers supposed to be the anchors, the rocks for their daughters? It sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be the other way around! Not when the daughters were eight years old! Was she so transparent that her child could see that she was falling to pieces and was trying to comfort her?

Hell, even Dan was acting as if she had just been dumped by the love of her life and was being considerate, tiptoeing around her and doing his best to make her feel better.

It wasn’t really working, but she appreciated the effort; it also made her angry because – Lucifer and she had not been a couple.

Well –

Yeah, they had been. They might not have had sex, but they had been close in every other way that counted. Everyone had seen it, apparently. Everyone had known – even her, but not Lucifer.

And she was so tired of that ache in her heart, of feeling like she was losing her mind because she was _not_ a teenager on her first crush. She had not seen things, she was _not_  crazy!

She kissed her daughter goodnight, feeling guilty because she wasn’t even asking her to read fairytales for her. She felt tears in her eyes and furiously blinked them back as she watched Trixie sleeping and silently retreated back to her bedroom.

Maze had made herself scarce and she could not blame her, not really. She had history with Lucifer and she got how difficult her position was. She did.

Except when she didn’t.

She checked her cell; of course, there were not messages from Lucifer. Not that she had expected them. Part of her, however, kept hoping – even when the rational part of her had got the message loud and clear.

She was not actually a teenager on her first crush!

She didn’t throw the cellphone against the wall, but it was a close call; Lucifer might afford whatever he wanted, but she could not, least of all throwing a hissy fit.

She got under the covers, she tossed and turned in the bed feeling too cold one moment and burning up a moment later. She could not see the tall, dark haired angel observing her, waiting for her to close her eyes, to succumb to sleep.

She did not see him taking a step forward in the room, his blue robe making him almost one with the dark room.  

She did not see the impossible hue of his eyes: blue, gray and green narrow as he touched her. She was asleep, hugging her pillow, her lips parted, her heart racing, waiting, craving, therefore she could not feel the delicate, feather-like caress on her forehead and mumbled, “Oh, bugger it!” when the angel of dreams felt her energies shifting.

 

_She tilted her head back._

_Oh, God – his lips were like fire on her skin, on her neck. There was no way she would not sport the mother of all hickeys, after – and She. Did. Not. Care._

_Oh no, quite the contrary! The idea of his lips, fingers leaving bruises and marks on her skin, making everyone know that she was his was an erotic experience in and on itself._

_Black eyes, they were boring into her very soul. He could not usually read her desires (small mercies), but they were looking into her very soul, now._

_He was not smiling – not now. His fingers were on her hips and he was everywhere: in the breaths she was taking (hot, too damn hot, it felt like she was bursting into flames!), on her skin, in the way she was moving._

_It was not the moment for innuendos, for teasing – it was her fingers trailing on his chest, and his skin was almost feverishly hot at the touch and soft, so soft._

_“God, I miss you –“ She panted between kisses._

_He smirked against her lips, and it was not a cruel gesture, he never had been willingly cruel to her, it was not mocking either._

_“I know –“ He said._

_His right hand trailed down on her side, leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake and she didn’t know, she could not even fathom that his touch could be like this: sensual in itself, delicate, marking and a language only she could understand._

_“Do you miss me?” She asked. And part of herself knew – because she would never, ever ask him in real life, that it could not possibly be happening._

_His left hand cradled her face, his thumb softly brushing her jaw, “I can’t actually breath without you,” He said._

_His right hand slipped between them, teasing her flesh with slow, steady circles around her core but his words were cutting her deep down._

_“Why aren’t you here?” She breathed._

_And damn, he was good! He knew just how to touch her, how to look at her, letting her brace herself by holding onto him, straddling him, her arms bracketing him and she needed to kiss him, again and again because he was not there, not really, and she needed him._

_“You know why,” He breathed against her lips._

_She shook her head and she moved, her heart fluttering in her chest as she felt the sweet throbbing between her legs, and he seemed in no rush, he seemed content with his hands roaming on her back and his tongue lavishing her mouth._

_“Why?” She asked._

_It could not be real. She would rather die than asking that question aloud and yet her body was moving and so was his. And it felt real: she could feel the beads of perspiration on her temples, she could smell Lucifer, and she would recognize that musk everywhere. It felt real when he filled her when he smiled as her hands cradled his face, and he did not move, not right away, giving her time to adjust to him._

_“You know why –“ He repeated and no, she did not know why. How could she?_

_And was it his voice? Broken, hoarse and there was not a hint of the cocky bastard she had met and fallen in love with in it._

_She shook her head, even as she moved above him, and it was like it had always between them – compromising, meeting halfway, falling seamlessly into a rhythm whose beat only they could hear and feel._

_His hands on her hair, hers on his face, his teeth were nibbling at her lower lip and their breaths mingling and it was not about pleasure, not about the bundle of nerves he was teasing – it was more._

_It had always been more than that._

_“I –“ She breathed._

_There were scars on his back – and she could feel them under her fingertips, and she did not give half a fuck whether she was dreaming or not: they were real._

_He was – hurting._

_He needed her._

_She needed him._

_“I will punch you in the face when you come back,” She said, and her voice was broken by moans and so was his laughter._

_“I would not expect anything different from you, detective!” He said._

_And there it was: the pleasure, dancing on her skin, flowing in her blood, throbbing between her legs, enveloping him, welcoming him._

_“I will never hurt you!” She whispered into his ear and she felt him shiver at those words._

_“You are contradicting yourself, detective” He smirked, licking along the shell of her ear._

_He was smiling against her skin. He was filling her. It was not real – and it was the most alive she had ever felt in her life._

_She would punch him in the face when he came back (not if, when!) and she would protect him with her life._

* * *

 

“So you don’t know where he is?” Amanadiel asked.

She sighed. “Do you honestly think he would tell me?” Charlotte asked.

“He didn’t tell you anything?” He inquired.

She tilted her head down. She had – failed: one son killed, another – lost. How she wished to have her children with her, to undo the last months of her life. She would rather go to hell again, face other millennia of torture than thinking about her boy’s eyes during their last conversation.

“He said I succeeded,” She admitted eventually.

Amenadiel was confused. Her son was so pure-hearted, so easily manipulated – and she was to blame entirely for what had happened.

“He said his heart was broken.” She whispered.

He had stood tall and proud when he had been cast out of Heaven. He had fought, he had been defiant and had accepted his punishment with his head held up high even as they had all felt his heart breaking.

He had smiled outside the hospital, but his eyes – oh, his eyes had reflected the eons of pain he had inflicted on lost souls and the betrayal, the last of many, he had endured.

“Maze told me the same but –“ Amenadiel trailed, shaking his head.

“I don’t know where he is, son – but let me help you, I owe him that.” She said – and if she were another person, a better mother, she would plead with his son. If she had been a better mother she would have not allowed Lucifer to have his heart broken so deeply.

She would not have been the one to crack him open like that.

“Was it worth it, mom?” Her son asked. He was disappointed, he was questioning each and every moment they had spent together.

She shook her head. No. It definitely had _not_ been worth it.

“This is on me,” She said, “I will –“

“You, mother, will stay out of this until I tell you otherwise!” Her son snapped, “You have manipulated us enough for this millennium, wouldn’t you agree?”

Part of her was seething at Amenadiel’s words. She wanted to lash back at him, she wanted to use words and show him that he was way out of line.

Except that he wasn’t, not that time. He was right and she was wrong.

“He is Lucifer. He doesn’t know how to keep a low profile, son. I can help you find him – I won’t interfere!” Charlotte said.

And, perhaps, she ought to tell him that there had been a shift in the energies around them, that she could feel the texture of things being altered, somehow. She should tell him that she was sure, positive, that at least two of her children were being little busy bees as they spoke.

She did not, however. And it was not because she wanted to manipulate her sons or get back at her husband – not that time. She wanted to do the right thing for her children. She wanted them to be a family again and in order to do so, she had to start being a _mother_ again.

“I will drag you to hell myself, mother –“ Amenadiel said. It was a warning and a promise. She knew her son: he was not lying, he was not bluffing.   

“I will let you.” She replied – and she hated being confined in that sack of meat, she would give everything to be in her true form, to be able to reach out and envelope her children in her light, like she used to do when they were younger. She had to settle for nodding her head in response to her son’s questioning glance.

Free will.

Oh, the irony of it – of her son, her smart, bright Lucifer not understanding his father’s gift.

God’s gifts were tests and tribulations and broke hearts, but it was so easy for her to understand His reason for them. Even now.  

Chloe Decker, a human, could be (and was, already, in so many ways,) the making of her son.

Lucifer’s stubbornness could be his own undoing.

Again.

 

* * *

 

 

_He had lived that moment before. He remembered each second of it; it had been the beginning of time – it had been a few minutes, a few eternities before. It was happening again._

_Falling had hurt. Feeling his grace being ripped apart, torn to shreds had been excruciating. The names of his siblings had echoed in his mind and heart as he was shunned from home and had fallen._

_Fire. Air as sharp as razors’ edges, cutting his face, his torso, and arms; his heart going to pieces over and over – the prospect of eternity like that, only filled with the smell of rotten souls had almost done him in._

_It felt exactly like that moment – he was falling, he had never stopped. He had his wings – and oh, damn, he had missed them! He had missed the weight of them; he had almost forgotten (no, he had not. He had pretended to. It hurt less that way) how complete they made him feel._

_He had been there as the world was created, when the dark had become light and his Father had made everything – the perfect symmetry of it all and it was flashing through him, through every molecule of his essence as he fell, again._

_And again._

_And again._

_When he landed (symmetry: every fall had to end with a landing; everything had its purpose even if, for the life of him, he did not understand his Father’s plans, or he hated them,) that time it was not in the Pit. There was no pitch black darkness around him, it was not Dante’s inferno – interesting lad, that Italian fellow – or the labyrinth of eternal damnation and custom made torture chambers he had built over time._

_It was a beach, the same beach where he had arrived, with Maze, when he had left hell. It was warm and soft and Lucifer truly would rather be anywhere but there._

_The sand was pleasantly cool under his bare soles, he could smell the sea, look at the stars and it hurt. His body was raw, his heart and soul were screaming and they had not stopped doing so for millennia._

_He was so tired._

_He was bleeding and burning and crashing and he just needed –_

_“Sssh…” It was Chloe._

_She was there, next to him, on that beach, in the same exact spot where he had clawed his way back up from hell, where he had burned his wings and she had kissed him. She was dressed in white and he wanted to tell her not to bother, not to soil her dress with his blood, he was falling, he would always fall – there was nothing she could really do about it._

_He was naked and torn apart and she was next to him, squatting in the sand, her hands hovering over him, tentative and careful and he anticipated the pain her touch would cause, but it didn’t happen._

_It was good – the relief he felt at her touch was breathtaking. It quieted the deafening roars inside and outside of him – and he swallowed, feeling blood and gratitude on his tongue._

_He felt his wings stirring – he could see how the damage done to them with the fall was reasserting itself as Chloe touched him._

_“You are not supposed to be here –“ He said. And he was pretty sure he had not spoken in English – he was sure he had spoken in a language no human could ever hope to understand and yet she did; she smiled at him as she always did when she thought he was a pain n the arse but she cared about him anyway and said, “I am exactly where I want to be,”_

_He closed his eyes, he felt like he could rest. He was terrified._

_He felt her fingers carding through his hair, not the stylish, short cut he had adopted in Los Angeles, but the curly, long mess that he had had in hell._

_“You can rest, now. I am here.” Chloe whispered, cradling his body against hers, “I’m not going to leave you,”_

_And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He believed her. Truly and completely. He was naked, bleeding, and she was there, healing him – saving him._

_Part of him knew it could not possibly be true, but he did not care. He smiled and he felt at peace, for the first time in longer than he cared to remember when she brushed her lips against his forehead._

_Oh._

_That was it, then. He had finally, finally stopped falling._

Candy was singing in the bathroom. She was a nice girl, but truly, how many times could he listen to her butchering Adele’s songs before seriously contemplating murder?

Also, Adele? He had nothing against her, per se, but – sod it! Words about settling down and finding someone like the person one was in love with or whatever drivel the song was really about felt a bit too much like rubbing salt on open wounds.

“You think you are so funny, don’t you?” He gritted out glancing upwards.

He needed to get out of that room, he wanted to have a shower in peace without his new bride wanting to “surprise” him every, single, bloody time.

He wanted to – draw in a breath because the feeling of having that fat guy sitting on his chest, not in a funny way, was sort of becoming an issue.

And he was having dreams. He knew it was happening because Candy had told him he was trashing in his sleep (and the fact that he was indeed sleeping more than a couple of hours per night should have clued him in right from the start!) and because he remembered flashes of the dreams he was having.

The point was that he had never, _ever_ dreamed. Dreams were like hope, and they were _not_ in the brochure for him. He had finally got the message loud and bloody clear.

And yet – here he was, trying to remember what he had dreamt about while the woman he had made his wife was probably using her brush as a microphone and was giving an excellent impression of a tortured soul by utterly destroying Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain”.

He closed his eyes, counting up to – well, ten million, as he had quickly become used to.

He did remember one image from his latest dream, however; it was hazy, it was like a memory more than an actual dream, even if he rationally knew it was the latter: it was Chloe and him, on a beach, the one where they had shared their only kiss, his head on her lap as she carded her fingers through his hair.

He sighed. Oh, very, very _funny_.

Had it happened before before his Father’s newest attempt at screwing with him had been revealed, he would have actually bothered praying for his brother to get his arse down there and would have asked him what in the bloody hell did he think he was doing.

He would not pray, however. He was _done_.

_'Cause there's a side to you_  
That I never knew, never knew  
All the things you'd say  
They were never true, never true  
And the games you play  
You would always win, always win

He let out a sigh. Well, that could have been worse, he thought as he opened his eyes and gripped the arms of his chair.  

As if on cue, Candy abruptly started intoning the first lines of Beyonce’s “Halo”!

“Oh, for goodness’ sake! What are you, five?” He exclaimed shaking his head, looking upward.  

First thing first, he would hire a vocal coach to improve Candy’s singing skills – it was either that or slashing his wife’s throat to shut her up.

Secondly, he needed a drink. Or a hundred.

Thirdly, he needed to – stop missing Chloe.

Easier said than done. He focused on what he could realistically achieve: copious amounts of alcohol.

* * *

 

 

“I want it for the record that I think this is mean!” Laoel said looking up at her brother.

Duma cocked an eyebrow at her words and said, “Oh, I am sure Metatron is dutifully noting your objection as we speak, sister!”

She rolled her eyes. They were not wearing robes – they were dressed as bystanders, and if one looked at them, they would probably spot a resemblance between Duma and her – same pale complexion, same eye shape, same dark, curly hair.

They probably looked like two tourists in Los Angeles which, apparently, was the point. She could have given visions to the woman they were observing without touching her; it was sort of what she had done for eons.

The circumstances, however, required a different course of action. Therefore, she was dressed in human clothes and was waiting for the right moment to touch Chloe Decker.

 Even Duma was curious about the woman – the human whose soul was so interwoven to their brother’s that it frankly surprised her how their paths had not crossed earlier. Father’s will or not.

“There we go –“ Duma said. His voice calm, deep, the silver of the ring he wore on his index finger sparkling under the sun.

She smiled. She played her part. It was unusual for her to physically touch a human, but not completely unheard of.

Chloe Decker was _pure;_ that was the first thing she felt as she touched her: she was a mother – who was smiling at her daughter, while masking a deep sorrow, a broken heart. She was a warrior, whose sense of right and wrong was unwavering.

_Oh, Dear –_

She thought as she touched the woman, again.

Oh, she saw it _now_ , she felt it! Duma had been right.

Chloe Decker looked at her, a frown marring her brow and she noticed the deep shadows under her eyes. As ever, her brother was an overachiever – and he even touched her, again, when he helped her pick up the files she had dropped.  

_Oh, Lucifer is going to be so pissed when he comes back!_

 

 

* * *

 

  

“Oh, man – are you alright, Chloe?” Dan asked eyeing her as she squatted in front of the body on the pavement covered with a yellow plastic sheet.

“Uhm?” She replied absentmindedly, while she uncovered the victim’s face.

“Are you ok?” Dan asked.

Was she okay? No, not really, but as much as Dan was making an effort to be a good friend to her, telling him that she was not okay would raise all sorts of questions that would make things awkward between them and that was the very last thing she wanted.

 “Yeah, I’m fine,” She replied after what, she realised too late, was a too long stretch of silence.

She closed her eyes for a second. She could not afford more – apparently her mind never tired of conjuring up images of Lucifer whenever she closed her eyes for more than a few minutes.

It was not enough that she missed him while she was awake; and she did miss him – even if she was angry as hell with him, even if she would punch him or shoot him again if she ever saw him again.

It was not enough that she missed her partner – because she had not lied on the stand: Lucifer had been the best partner she ever had. She missed feeling safe, knowing that he had her back, that he valued her opinion; she missed the fact that he had never been intimidated by her. Ever.

It was not enough that she could not get over it, over him, and that she did not understand what had happened.

Oh, no! She had to have those dreams too. God – good thing Maze was rarely home these days; she would never live them down!

“Right –“ Dan said. And she knew that tone of voice. Dan was humoring her not to pick up a fight. She let out a breath; she was a professional, she would not tear her ex husband a new one because of the dreams she was having and because she still was not over the jerk who had left town without as much as a goodbye.

“What do we have?” She asked. Her voice and hopefully the look in her face booked no arguments.

There was a murder and it was her job to catch the killer!

Dan informed her about the victim: Amanda Palmer, twenty eight, single, she had been found by a neighbor; apparent cause of death multiple stabbing wounds on her chest, clear signs of self defense on her hands and forearms, no sign of forced entry and they had no clue whether something had been stolen, even if her apartment looked like a hurricane had swept through it.

No suspects, dozens of people to question, a trust fund she had only recently had had access to – and Chloe felt the beginning of an headache forming behind her eyes.

God, she was exhausted!

She gave a perfunctory smile to Ella when she entered the room, she must have been in the victim’s bedroom, at least judging by the garments she had bagged as evidence.

Ella gave the bags to an agent and crouched next to her.

She only half listened to what she was saying – her attention span rivaled Trixie’s that morning. She just could not focus on the words.

“Are you alright?” Ella asked, the concern in her voice was so genuine that, for a moment, Chloe felt like crying.

And then…

Ella touched her. It was just a brush of her nitrile covered fingers on her wrist and she had to blink, repeatedly, after.

Fire, the smell of burnt plastic and metal, no one on sight, the desert behind her, stars above them and a car burning and blood on her face – and –

 

_“Oh, God, please let me live!” She whispered, over and over, in English and Spanish._

_Fire, pain, fear and her voice (it was not her voice, she knew that, but it felt like it was), praying, “Angel de Dios, que eres mi custodio, pues la bondad divina, me ha encomendado a ti, ilùminame, dirìgeme, guardame.”_

_She closed her eyes, “Amén”_

_She had closed her eyes and yet she could see the tall, redheaded woman, tilting her head on a side, her white robe almost translucent, reflecting the fire._

_She saw the hand on the woman’s shoulder._

_“No,” A male voice said. She could not see him, but the voice was warm and calm and yet it booked no arguments. It was not the time. That was what that single word had meant._

_The red headed woman nodded, she saw flickers of doubts in her blue eyes, but she took a step back._

_A beat._

_Fire._

_Again._

_And then – a bar? And she was there, laughing, she was wearing a crucifix, now, and she was laughing and Dan (what the hell?) invited her to dance, and she felt tipsy and  safe and the fire seemed so far away._

_“Ella..” Dan whispered._

“Chloe?” It was Dan’s voice, but it was so far away.

“Oh  my God…” Ella said aloud. Too loud. Too close.

She couldn’t breathe and her head was splitting in two. She closed her eyes and tried to shy away from their touch.

It was just too much.

When the darkness came, she greeted it almost with gratitude.

 

*

 

The man lying face down on the dirty pavement in that alley was the very reason for which the term overkill had been invented: just how many times could you shoot a body before you realised that you had done the job with the first bullet to the head?

He had left that part of his life behind: consulting with LAPD, helping solving crimes, enjoying punishing the culprits, being happy because –

Well, it hardly mattered, didn’t it? And yet he had literally stumbled upon the body of that poor chap.

“Really, really not in the mood!” He said shaking his head.

He wasn’t even drunk. Or high. He had just needed to be alone for a while. Alone and lonely were definitely not the same thing, Linda had been right, but sometimes being alone was necessary and welcome.

Like, for example, when one’s new wife was like an overeager puppy.

He was unfair to Candy – and he couldn’t be arsed to care. He was the Devil, wasn’t he? He should, perhaps, remember that, once in a while.

He looked down at the body on the pavement. Instinct or muscle memory took over and he could hear Chloe telling him not to contaminate the scene, not to touch anything and quite honestly he did not want to go through to process of having to explain himself to anyone.

He had retired from retirement. He was done. He was just – a millionaire living in Las Vegas, not a care in the world and bla, bla, bla.

He sighed. He was exhausted. He was physically and mentally exhausted.

“Hands in the air, freeze!” A male voice said. Lucifer sighed, again.

Newbies, he thought with a snort. He knew he was immortal, he had checked, nevertheless he tilted his hands up and as the young policeman advanced toward him (had he even ever held a gun? The stance was all wrong!) he spotted, just out of the corner of his eyes a familiar light silver gown, almost bluish in its hue. And the way she wiggled her fingers and smiled.

Oh, bloody hell!

The newbie touched him – and, oh no. No. A world of no!

He was the devil. He could fight his siblings’ attempts to screw with his mind. He could. But the man’s touch – was like a shock to his system. It was like the defibrillator against his chest. Again.

Chloe. Writhing on a marble floor, her eyes open, unseeing. People around her: Detective Espinoza, Ella – and they were terrified.

_She was eighteen, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, naked underneath it, holding a cup of coffee with both her hands; she wanted to go home. The director was explaining the scene to her. Yeah, it was not exactly Stanley Kubrick , she kinda got what she had to do:  she had to be the blonde bimbo, with boobs out in a tub. It was not exactly rocket science!_

_She forced her hand not to trembles as she drank her coffee. Her parents had not raised a coward. She could do it!_

“What the hell have you done to her, Laoel?” He gritted out.

His little sister was not there, he could not feel her anymore – but he could feel Chloe, as if she was there, with him.

“What have you done to her?” He asked, again.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t making any sense. He was crying tears of blood and was avoiding to look at her. And there had been a before – before that darkness and that pavement and Lucifer bleeding on it.
> 
> There had been words – but she did not know them (not yet.), there had been more.
> 
> The simple truth, however, was that she needed him. That was the only thing she knew – even after everything. Or before everything. She could not be sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: Lucifer was renewed!!! Yay!!!:D  
> Second: Thank you so much for all the kudos and feedbacks and the support! It's so appreciated!!  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter:)  
> Happy Valentine's day!

_When I lost my grip_  
And I hit the floor  
Yeah, I thought I could leave, but couldn't get out the door  
I was so sick and tired  
Of livin' a lie  
I was wishin' that I would die

_Amazing (Aerosmith)_

 

 

_It was the end of the line. It was dark, around them – she could not see a damn thing except for Lucifer._

_After everything – she found him on the pavement, and his white shirt was drenched with blood and she could only ran toward him._

_She stopped when he slowly, but steadily got on his feet._

_Blood; there was so much blood – on his clothes, on his face, he was crying tears of blood, for God’s sake!_

_“Lucifer!” She cried and she needed to touch him, she needed to make sure he was alright._

_When she touched his face and he closed his eyes, exhaling a sigh, for a moment the relief threatened to make her heart burst in her chest._

_But when he grabbed her wrist, a moment later, and shied away from her touch, almost as if it burned,  Chloe was sure that her heart, that time, was going to break for good._

_“You don’t understand –“ Lucifer said, “You still don’t understand?”_

_He wasn’t making any sense. He was crying tears of blood and was avoiding to look at her. And there had been a_ before _– before that darkness and that pavement and Lucifer bleeding on it._

_There had been words – but she did not know them (not yet.), there had been more._

_The simple truth, however, was that she needed him. That was the only thing she knew – even after everything. Or before everything. She could not be sure._

_She did not want to lose him._

_She could not lose him._

_And when he ran – into the dark, she did the only thing she could: she followed him._

“She needs to know the truth!” Maze hissed.

“You know it’s not that simple!” Amenadiel hissed back.

“Oh, screw you! It’s _very_ simple – and your family sucks, by the way!” Maze replied, “I mean – this is a new low!”

Chloe took that, and Amenadiel’s lack of response, as her cue to open her eyes. Well, she tried to, she really, really, did. She felt like she had been put into a meat grinder, to be honest: physically and emotionally.

She was _beyond_ exhausted.

She didn’t think she had ever felt that tired – not even after giving birth.  

She knew she was in a hospital – she did not need to open her eyes to know that: she recognized the smells, the feeling of those itchy sheets on  her skin. Oh, and also being hooked to machines.

She knew she had dreamed. Again. It had felt different from the dreams she had had since Lucifer had left, however. It had not been an R rated dream, for starters. It had not even truly felt like a dream – she couldn’t say what it had felt like, not in words or thoughts, even. A premonition? A serious glitch in her brain?

It had been intense, however: the blood on Lucifer’s face, so bright and red, in stark contrast with the paleness of his skin, the rain pouring over them, her running after him, her heart in her throat, the certainty that if she did not reach him, if she did not touch him and tell him _something_ (what? She could not remember) she would lose him forever.

All of Lucifer’s wounds had been there for her to see – and they had broken her heart because yes, he could be a bastard, a jackass, an egomaniac, but he was also – hers. He was sweet, funny, kind, caring and honest.

And she could not lose him. So, in her dream, she had run and run and run – afraid that she would never catch him and it had terrified her.

It had not felt like a dream, it had felt – different.

It still did, even now that she was awake and she could not open her eyes.

“What happened?” She asked. Well, at least her voice was working.

She heard Maze moving, and could finally open her eyes and see that she stopped just short from touching her.

“Doctors are not sure – you passed out on the crime scene,” Amenadiel replied.

Why did she have the feeling that he was taking huge liberties with the truth? He wasn’t lying, but he wasn’t completely honest either.

Maze was looking at him as if she wanted to shove some pointy object far up his butt and that was reassuring, in a way.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

And she wanted to ask her since when did she care and why was she there in the first place. Well, she kinda had an answer for that second question: she was one of her emergency contacts and she was sure Dan was with Trixie, so it only left Maze. As for the first question – better not to go there. And she was too tired to even try and guess what the hell was Lucifer’s brother doing there.

“Fine,” She said, attempting a smile.

Maze scoffed, one hand on her hip and she was looking at her like she looked at Trixie when she caught her red handed after she raided the fridge and ate all the chocolate cake.

“What were you talking about?” She asked.

Maze exchanged a glance with Amenadiel one that Chloe had no troubles interpreting; it meant: “I told you!”

“Guys –“ She said, “what’s going on?”

She felt her heart lurch in her throat as her two friends (and they were. The people in Lucifer’s life: his brother, his closest friend, his therapist had entered hers and she could not imagine her life without them, now) exchanged a worried glance.

“Is it about Lucifer? Is he alright?” She asked.

Yes, she was mad. She was angry and would gladly give Lucifer a piece of her mind, that – that didn’t mean she had stopped loving him. If only things were so simple!

“See?” Maze said cocking an eyebrow at Amenadiel.

She tried to move, to get in a sitting position and she felt like all her strength had been wiped away and she noticed how neither Maze or Amenadiel made any attempt to help her, for which she was absurdly grateful because the last person who had touched her, Ella, had made her feel like being ripped in two.

“Where’s Trixie?” She asked when she finally settled with her back against the pillows. They could, at least, answer that question, she hoped.

“She is at Dan’s, she’s fine.” Maze replied with a smile and a reassuring nod of her head.

Chloe nodded. She had known – somehow – but it still made her feel better to know her daughter was safe.

“When did they start?”Amenadiel asked. He had gotten closer to the bed, but he too was being very careful, like Maze, not to get _too_ close.

She shook her head, “What? Me fainting at a crime scene? That was a first!” She said.

Amenadiel tilted his head on a side and right there, she saw the resemblance to Lucifer, his, “Oh, please, I see right through your bullshit!” look.

“The _dreams_ ,” Amenadiel said.

Chloe blinked her eyes in surprise. How – how did he know? How could he know?

“It doesn’t matter – I can smell it on her!” Maze replied. She sounded absolutely furious and Chloe had no idea what she was talking about. Smell _what_ on her?

“It does. The longer it goes on, the worse it will get.” Amenadiel replied.

He sounded reasonable, even if what he was saying didn’t make a lick of sense, but there was also anger and fear in his eyes.

He looked scared _for_ her. And she did not understand why no doctor had come in and told her what the hell was wrong with her, yet.

She shook her head and said, “Okay – I’m not following you: explanation?”

And she was very much aware of the fact that she had not replied to the man’s question.

Once again they looked at each other and she hated that she was positive that they were hiding something from her; it did not exactly take a genius – and she did not like that they both looked so worried.

“All right!” She said, she did not remember ever feeling so exhausted in her life, “I want to know what’s happening!”

Amenadiel opened his mouth to speak when his cell phone rang. He exchanged another glance with Maze, and she saw the warning in his eyes before he excused himself and got out of the room.

“What’s going on, Maze?” She asked.  

She was starting to be afraid, she was starting to really worry about Lucifer, more than she probably should, considering that she was the one in a hospital bed – and her last clear recollection before passing out did not make any sense whatsoever.

“That’s on me,” Maze said after a moment, “I shouldn’t have left you alone, he asked me to look after you and Trixie!”

What the - _hell_? What was she, a plant to water? A freaking goldfish?

Maze was looking at her and seemed genuinely perplexed by the look on her face.

“Lucifer –“ Maze started and she looked like she was genuinely searching for the right words, which was unprecedented and it was actually worrying.

“Yeah – I got it,” She interrupted her, “but why did he bother anyway? He left!”

Maze looked upwards for a moment and Chloe was pretty damn sure that she mouthed a, “That’s not my fucking job!” before she said, “Seriously? You have no idea, don’t you?”

She shook her head no, but she had always been a lousy liar; Maze cocked an eyebrow at her, and Chloe noticed how she did not move a muscle, she did not even try to get closer to her bed.

“Why did he leave?” She asked after a moment. She did not look at her friend, she looked down at her hands, blinking back tears, noticing for the first time that her knuckles were bloodied. 

Maze let out an annoyed sigh and said, “Because he is a stubborn bastard, but don’t think, not even for a moment, that he doesn’t –“ She gritted her teeth and said, “ _care_ about you. You haven’t the first idea of what he did for you, of how much he sacrificed for you!”

Chloe swallowed. Dan had told her that it had been Lucifer who, somehow, had retrieved the exact dosage for the antidote. For the first time, there had been genuine respect in Dan’s voice while talking about Lucifer.

And it would be so much easier for her if she didn’t believe in what Maze had just said, if she could just hate Lucifer for leaving, for being a dick who hadn’t even dignified her with an answer to all the messages she had left.

But he had – abandoned her, without an explanation, without a word. 

“Oh, for - ” Maze stopped short of uttering the rest of her sentence, “You really have no idea? Seriously?” She looked angry and dangerous and Chloe was suddenly very aware of the fact that the woman in front of her was – a bounty hunter, a freaking ninja and Lucifer’s closest friend.

Maze took a step forward and Chloe held her head up high: she had never been a coward, she would not start being one now, not even while she was in a hospital for a reason she didn’t even understand.

“Maze!” It was Amenadiel, she had not even heard him get back in the room. She did not even particularly care: Maze was challenging her with her eyes, she was angry – and well, she’d better get in line because she was angry too!

“If you touch her –“ Amenadiel said threateningly.

“What are you gonna do, tell Daddy dearest? Oh, wait – He fucked you over too!” Maze hissed. 

“I found him,” He said, ignoring Maze’s words, “I found Lucifer!”

And why, why, was she so sure that whatever had brought her to the hospital was connected to Lucifer?

It was irrational and she was aware of that – but if there was something Lucifer had taught her was to listen to her gut instinct: it was rarely wrong.

“You did?” Both Maze and her asked at the same time.

“Yes. It was – mom, actually,” Amenadiel said. He looked and sounded embarrassed by his own words. And Maze snorted at his words.

So, at least Amenadiel was actually in touch with their mother. Chloe would very much love to have a word or a thousand with Lucifer’s parents and understand what exactly they had done to him: she had seen the scars on his back, Amenadiel had hinted about  their difficult childhood and she had heard Lucifer talking about his mother – she knew how much he needed to punish guilty people and, for the life of her, she could not get it out of her head the disbelief in his eyes when he had said, “This is real, isn’t it?” as if it was not possible for him to be loved, as if that fact (and it was a fact, damn!) just did not compute with him, almost as if it was a given for him that he was not worthy of being loved.  

Oh, yeah, she would definitely love to have a chat with his parents!

“I’m going to go and get him. He needs to know what’s happening!” Amenadiel said.

“Ok, enough!” Chloe shouted – and she had to rest her back against the pillows, after. God, it felt like she had just run a marathon!  

Both Amenadiel and Maze were looking at her, with worry and, in Maze’s case, curiosity.

“No one is going anywhere until you tell me exactly what’s going on!” She said eyeing both of them.

She saw Amenadiel tense for a moment and the man’s voice was firm, but kind when he said, “I promise we will tell you everything – but, Chloe – it is imperative that we bring Lucifer back!”

“Yeah, no –“ Maze said, “I am going!”

“Maze this is not –“ Amenadiel trailed.

“I can’t do squat to protect her if they show up and you know that!” Maze replied.

Who were _they?_ Why did she need protecting and from whom? And why were they talking as if she wasn’t even there or, worse, she was a child who could not be left alone?

“No,” Amenadiel said, “I’m going, I have to. This is my fault too!”

And, again, she had no idea what they were talking about, but she believed Amenadiel, whatever the hell it was – he was sincere when he thought he was responsible for Lucifer’s decision to leave. Oh, yes, a chat with Lucifer and Amenadiel’s parents was rapidly becoming high on her list of priorities! 

“Just stay here,” The man said.

She saw something flicker in Maze’s eyes: a softness she rarely showed, but it only lasted a moment because she said, “If her highness shows up I will rip her heart out. Fair warning!”

Amenadiel smiled at her words, even though she was sure Maze was not joking.

He left giving a pointed glance at Maze, who stepped back from her, and she was honestly done with being treated like an idiot!  She would also really like to speak with an actual doctor and know what the hell had happened to her!

 But first thing first, she needed Maze to tell her the truth – no metaphors, no roleplay, just the truth, for once!

 

* * *

 

 

As holding cells went – he supposed it could have been worse. Well, he had reigned over hell, therefore the bar was quite low, to begin with. as its only occupant.

The newbie had been so out of it because of – his siblings’ interferences that he had not listened to reason.

Well, he had wished for some alone time and he had got it; he was not exactly complaining. If the police were not completely and utterly incompetent he was sure he would be released very soon: after all, he had only discovered the body of that poor chap,  he did not even own a gun and he was positive he had been with Candy when the man had been killed.

Also, he was the Devil, if push came to shove he would wiggle his way out of that little mess without problems.

He had not prayed, however. And he was not going to. Yes, he was very much aware of the fact that his siblings were messing with his head; he had seen his sister and he was pretty sure that his Father was behind all that – whatever it was.

He closed his eyes, resting his head against a wall: he was tired, nay – he was frankly _exhausted_ and it was something he had never experienced.

 Oh, he knew why it was happening – that was his siblings’ doing; nevertheless, it was an odd, definitely unpleasant feeling and one he was looking forward to eliminating from his life. But he would rather feel like something a cat had dragged in, than praying.

That was never going to happen!

“I had almost forgotten what a bullheaded idiot you can be!” Laoel said.

He smiled. He really couldn’t help it. Time did not slow down when his other siblings appeared, that was Amenadiel’s thing. Father had given them all gifts; whether they truly were such was something he had spent eons mulling over and it was completely beside the point at the moment; which part, exactly, of: he was _done_ weren’t they getting?

He opened one eye and looked at his sister, she was sitting Indian style on the cot next to him: Laoel was wearing her light silver robe, her dark hair was loose on her shoulders, she was wearing a silver ring with a transparent but gleaming stone on her left middle finger and the stone was sparkling under the artificial and frankly terrible neon lights of the holding cell.

“What happened to humans can’t know about the divine?” He asked, turning his head on a side to look at her. Father and His stupid rules never ceased to amuse him. Or the fact that his siblings took them so bloody seriously!

“You are sleeping,” She replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Oh, so is Duma here too?” He asked and even if he was dreaming – hallucinating or whatever he would _not_ cross his arms over his chest. He would not cave in.

“Nope – he touched you once, said it was enough. You know he is –“ Laoel trailed, waving her hand dismissively.

Oh, yes. He knew how his siblings were. All of them. With a few notable exceptions and the recent developments with Amenadiel aside, they had all sided with his Father during the rebellion. They had all allowed him to be cast out and had pretty much washed their hands off of him.

“Don’t be a twat!” Laoel said. Her voice was sharp, with a hint of genuine hurt in it. He chose to ignore that lingering thought, however, focusing on the matter at hand.

 _Right._ He was sleeping – dreaming, therefore she could read his thoughts. Bloody fantastic!

“Tell Dad –“ He started and then shook his head. What did it matter anyway? His father would do whatever He wanted, as usual.

However, he didn’t like his siblings messing with him – or Chloe.

“What have you done to her?” He asked after a moment.

“Make an educated guess.” She replied. She was still smiling, but he noticed how the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She did not like what she has been asked to do, but, of course, she obeyed their Father. How bloody typical!

“Leave her out of this!” He said between clenched teeth.

“Oh, Luci –“ She sighed, she hesitated a moment before resting a hand on his shoulder and said, “why do you care?”

He shrugged her hand off of him and jerked to her side, “It’s none of your bloody business! Just leave her out of this!” 

She smiled, “No, I know you care about _her_. Believe me: you have made it abundantly clear! That is not what I meant!”

“I will not have this debate with you or anyone else! Leave her out of this. I am not going to ask nicely again!”

Laoel crossed her arms over her chest and said, “Right – you would kill another sibling to protect her, you begged Father to save her, you went back willingly to the very place you have loathed for eons for her  – ”

“Enough!” He shouted. He got up from the cot – and it was surreal because he was perfectly aware that it was not really happening and yet it felt real, nay, almost _too_ real, in a way that was almost physically painful – and started to pace his cell.

“What you did for her, all of it, was your own doing, since the very first choice you made. Father had nothing to do with it!” Laoel said, and her absolute calm as she spoke of things she could not possibly understand was infuriating.

“He could have fooled me! Oh, wait – He did!” He said interrupting her. And he couldn’t believe he was having an argument in his dreams with a sibling he hadn’t seen for millennia!

“Luci – you just heard mom’s side of the story – why don’t you…?” Laoel said, but he interrupted her.

“Right – because He is not above using his own children or whoever he wants to, to manipulate things to His liking! What exactly are you doing? What are your orders?” He asked.

She got up from the cot as well and said, “You are being unreasonable!”

“No! I am just done with being used as a pawn and I won’t let her be used as a prop in our parents’ feud!” He said between clenched teeth.

She rolled her eyes. Laoel, angel of the Lord, responsible for visions of saints, prophets and admittedly some complete nut jobs, rolled her pale blue eyes and snorted a, “And here we go again,”

“This is not funny, sister! This is _my_ life and Chloe’s! What are you doing to her? Why?” He roared, letting his human face disappear, because if it was a family reunion he did not see why they had to wear kid gloves, after all!

It did not occur to him until seconds after he had spoken that, for once, he had used Chloe’s name.

“Quod ergo Deus coniunxit, homo non separet,” She said, looking absolutely nonplussed by his face and eyes. She did not look repulsed either, which Lucifer found oddly comforting, for some reason.

She also spoke in Latin which made _him_ roll his eyes. _Really_? They technically didn’t even need to speak any human language to understand each other!

“And I’m the twat? What are you talking about?” He asked. He then tilted his left hand up showing her his ring finger and continued, “And sorry, tell Dad that I’m spoken for, now!”

She scoffed, “You’re such a brat!” She said.

“Pot meet kettle.” He countered. It felt a bit like old times, except that – it wasn’t, not really. Things had changed and he refused to be still part of his family’s drama.

 “Tell him yourself!” Laoel said pointing at his hand, “That ring and that woman you married to stick it up to our Father do not negate the choices you have already made, you cannot seriously believe otherwise! ”

“Well, what is done is done! I cannot break my promises as you well know. So why are you here? And why aren’t you answering my questions?” He replied.

“On the contrary, I have!” She said, “Not my fault if you are not listening. As for your detective: sorry, brother mine, can’t do a thing about it. You need to suck it up and do what’s right, for once!”

 He cocked an eyebrow at her words. He _had_ been trying to do the right thing! He had been trying to live his life; to – be himself, whatever or whoever he was. But no, Father dear had to stick his nose in it! And his mother had to use him to get back at his Dad and he was so done with that celestial crap!

“You always say that you just tempt people, that what happens next is not your responsibility. How is this any different? Never took you for a hypocrite, brother!” Laoel said – and she sounded genuinely disappointed in him.

Well, she’d better join the bloody club!

“And for the record: being here is not exactly part of Father’s plan – I came here to warn you,” Laoel said, after a moment.

“Warning me about what?” He asked.

“Done my job, see you soon!” She said waving her hand.

Wait – what?

“Laoel? I’m not one of your bloody prophets! Do not –“ He stopped in mid-sentence when his sister disappeared.

Oh, great. Just bloody great!

It felt even more surreal to open his eyes and finding himself staring at the ceiling of his holding cell.

He should perhaps make his phone call, he was starting to notice just how bleak that room really was – and truthfully, he had not killed that bloke, so there truly was no point in being there.

His siblings had done something to both Chloe and him – and – bloody, sodding, hell! His sister had found a way to touch him! Duma was a sneaky bastard, but he had allowed his sister to touch him without thinking about the consequences!

But – why? Wasn’t what had happened with the newbie enough? He had seen and felt Chloe as if she was there, as if he _was_ her. He had seen her when she was younger and scared and embarrassed while on set, filming that movie He had felt her – seen her writhing on a floor, but it was gone, now. Or was it?

What had they done?

 “Mr. Morningstar!” A warden said, getting close to his holding cell, “you lawyer is here. Funny thing since you did not make any phone call –“

He closed his eyes for a moment, and said, “I trust this misunderstanding has been cleared?”

“Yep – got our guy not ten minutes ago,” The warden sighed and said, “newbies.”

He smiled opening his eyes, “I know, right?”

“Apologies on behalf of –“ The man started.

He waved a hand – he just wanted to get out of that cell and rip his “lawyer” to pieces. He had a good guess about who it was.

Turned out – he was wrong.

It wasn’t his mother, as he had expected, it was Amenadiel.

 

* * *

 

 “Yes.” Amenadiel said.

They were in the middle of the road, driving a monstrosity that only with generosity and a lot of imagination one could call a car. How that vehicle had not collapsed on the way to Nevada was something Lucifer did not understand.

“You might want to elaborate on that –“ He said, forcing his voice to be light and trying very hard not to snarl at his brother.

“Yes, I can feel them on you – and on Chloe, which is precisely why  we need to go back to Los Angeles!” Amenadiel said.

“Yes, brother – I already bloody knew that! It is not what I asked, however!” He replied.

“I –“ His brother hesitated, his grip on the steering wheel strengthening (and he needed to remember to buy a decent car to his brother. That monstrosity actually stank!) before he said, “I don’t know why. They are not answering my prayers!”

“I beg your pardon?” He asked. He would laugh, he would find the whole thing incredibly funny if it weren’t that his siblings were _touching_ Chloe and him for His father’s newest plan.

“They. Are. Not. Answering.” Amenadiel said between clenched teeth.

“How is it even possible? You used to answer to my prayers and I’ve fallen a _long_ time ago!” He said and he was beyond gloating or teasing. Uriel had answered his prayer as well. What the hell was going on?

Amenadiel shook his head, “I don’t know, brother – I truly don’t,” He said, “thank you by the way, for disappearing without saying a word!”

“Oh, I am sorry, did I hurt your feelings?” He asked, placing a hand on his heart, “It’s not like you moved a muscle when I was –“

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Amenadiel sighed, “I’m sorry, alright? Can we focus on what’s happening right now? I cannot undo time, I can only try to do my best, now!”

He blinked. That was the first time his brother – well, or any of his siblings, to be exact, had ever expressed sincere contrition over what had happened and sure, Amenadiel and him had grown closer for the past few months, but his words were, nevertheless, unexpected.

“You are right,” He said eventually, “what do we do?”

“Have you tried praying?” He asked.

He shook his head, “Nope. That’s not going to happen! Besides, I told you what Laoel said and did.”

“But she said she –“ Amenadiel trailed.

“Yes, and she _touched_ me. Therefore, I have no idea what happens if someone touches me, now: shall I get visions? Shall I starve myself to death? Shall a burning bush talk to me?” He said.

“There’s no reason to be blasphemous,” Amenadiel said side-eyeing him.

“I am the Devil, in case you forgot!” He retorted.

Amenadiel sighed, “Right – anyway, I really don’t think it works like that on us –“  

“Well, I don’t want to find out! I want to –“ He took a deep, calming breath and said, “What did the doctors say about the detective?”

He had been informed of what had happened in Los Angeles, even if he had already known because he had _seen_ it, but in the haste of the argument and of getting away from the precinct where he had been held he had not asked the most important question.

“They had to sedate her to examine her when she was brought to the hospital; she kept having seizures – they don’t know, of course, what’s causing them.”

It occurred to Lucifer that it had seemed perfectly normal that Amenadiel would know what had happened; he hadn’t even wondered why he had been there in the first place.

“I see –“ He said after a moment, “and mom found me.”

“Yep. She promised she would not interfere.” Amenadiel replied.

“That would be an unexpected turn of events.” He replied. And yes, he was aware of the fact that he sounded like a petulant child, he really did not care. Not at the moment.

“I know – but she truly is sorry.” His brother replied.

He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. He was so tired and knowing the reason why he was experiencing such a feeling did not help matters. At all.

“Is she having dreams too?” He asked, and jerked his eyes open as soon as images of Chloe, lying in her hospital bed, attached to machines, her face too pale appeared behind his closed lids.

“She didn’t reply when I asked her – but she is. Duma touched her more than once.” Amenadiel said.

It was official: he was going to kick his brother’s arse right back to Heaven!

“Luci – you look like hell, no pun intended, but you’re immortal, you can survive without sleep, your brain and body don’t work like mortals’..” Amenadiel said.

“I am aware,” He replied, and he really was. He could avoid sleep and he would probably not suffer severe consequences from his sister’s touch, but Chloe – miracle from Father or not – was human. There was a somewhat valid reason for some of the stupid rules his Father had always been so strict about; there was a reason why humans with visions often ended up barking mad and some of them ended up in hell because they took their lives.

He barely had to show his true face and humans’ sanity took a nosedive. 

Human brains and body simply could not deal with the divine directly. They were not wired that way.

 He opened his eyes and noticed the look his brother was giving him: he was actually worried about him.

“I am fine – I am immortal, remember? Let’s fix this –“ He said.

“Look – I can only imagine what you’re going through and –“ Amenadiel trailed, he actually did a double take and asked, “why are you wearing a wedding ring?”

He looked down at his hands. The golden band sparkled almost unnaturally under the moonlight.

“About that – before we go back to Los Angeles, we need to stop at my hotel first.” He said. He smiled. It was not a sincere smile and he knew his brother would not buy it.

“Oh, you didn’t!” Amenadiel exclaimed.

He stopped his brother from banging his head against the steering wheel while driving, but just barely.

Perhaps, he had to elucidate the fact that he was done with his Father’s plans more clearly!

 

* * *

 

  _Her back was against the wall. She had never been scared of him and he had never used his height to intimidate her._

_He was, now. Dark eyes reading right through her, in a way he had never, ever done, not even at the very beginning, when she had just been just another potential notch on his belt for him._

_He wasn’t smiling, he was studying her, there was something almost frantic in the way his body was closing the distance between them._

_“I put hundreds of miles between us – and it still wasn’t enough.” He said._

_He sounded scared, he sounded – unlike she had ever heard him and she could feel her eyes welling up with tears and Lucifer stepped back and she could feel the loss of his warmth, of his body so close to hers so strongly that it ached._

_“But you came back, didn’t you? You are here now!” She said and she couldn’t believe she was saying those words._

_There had been – anger and pain and confusion before and the Lux was empty, now, there was just the two of them and she wasn’t even supposed to be there, she could_ not be _there._

_“It doesn’t matter,” He said softly. He sounded hesitant – resigned._

_“It does to me!” She replied, she tilted her hand up to touch his face and he let her, even if he tensed for a fraction of a second when she did. He lingered in the touch, closing his eyes._

_“Don’t – please.” He said – and Chloe couldn’t honestly tell how long it had been, how long they stayed like that before he spoke._

_“What – why?” She asked._

_“You know why.” He said, opening his eyes. And those – weren’t his eyes. They couldn’t possibly be Lucifer’s eyes: they were red, like fire, like blood._

_A single crimson tear trailed down Lucifer’s cheek._

_“You know why,” He repeated._

_“I don’t care!” She said._

_And it was the truth, wasn’t it?_

“You are a manipulative bastard, you know that, right?” Laoel hissed.

Duma turned his head on a side, eyeing his sister, “Am I?” He asked, “Was it me who went to have a little chat with our brother?”

She flared her nostrils and said, “This is hardly the same thing!”

“But you did touch him, didn’t you?” He asked.

She nodded. She did not seem proud of what she had done, “I did not mean to – Duma, this woman is seared into his essence, tread carefully -“

He nodded his head and cast a glance at her before saying, “Did you know that there are no dreams in hell? There is no respite: not for demons, not for lost souls, not for our fallen siblings. Souls get ripped to shreds, over and over, in hell. Lucifer oversaw that – for eons. Imagine ruling over a constant loop of darkness and corruption, of hopelessness –“

He was still looking at his sister, who was avoiding his gaze, now; she was looking at the human woman sleeping in the hospital bed and the demon standing guard over her.

“Father asked me to wave away his dreams when he came to Earth.” He smiled and his sister did the same. There were so many things Lucifer did not know, could not figure out, despite being so bloody _bright_ under so many aspects.

“I must confess that I did not understand at first why He asked me to.” He continued. Far from him doubting His Father; nevertheless, he had been confused by His request. That had been until he had brushed his brother for the first time in eons and the reason had become clear. 

“He dreamed of hell, at first. I do not know what he saw, but I felt what he felt – and it was,” He trailed. He could not put into words – of any language – what he had felt. The agony of it.

“Hell?” She whispered. She was hugging her arms, she was watching the human move in her sleep, parting her lips, her essence becoming more and more entwined to their brother’s with each breath they both were taking.

 _Father –_ He thought.

He shook his head, “It was heartbreaking. Hollow – but now –“ He stopped mid-sentence, again. That was unusual for him but, then again, he had not expected to have that conversation, _ever_.

 His sister had brushed both their brother’s soul and the woman’s. She was right: the detective was seared into the very core of Lucifer’s soul – and he was seared into hers.

“I don’t know Father’s plan –“ He said after a moment.

“None of us one do, brother.” She replied.

“But I do know one thing: she is his _peace_.” He said, "she breaks his Fall. It's remarkable, sister,"

What Lucifer had experienced in his dreams, the tiny reflection, a glimmer,  of what he truly felt for that woman, had reached him: wave after wave. It had been _remarkable_. 

Father’s plan was not for him to know, nor he could ever presume to understand, he could only marvel at the magnificence of the texture of his brother’s dreams and the depth of what he felt in them.

It was all part of His father’s plan – but he was afraid, nonetheless.

 He feared his brother’s heartbreak. He feared that he would do the exact opposite of what their Father wanted. He feared the mess their mother had done would and could be their undoing.

 

* * *

“He did – _what_?” Linda’s voice on the phone was sharp. Amenadiel was on the balcony of the penthouse suite his brother and his _wife_ were staying in.

“He got married.” Amenadiel repeated. Could fallen angels get headaches? Because he was sure the pressure he felt throbbing behind his eyes was a very human, very stress related headache.

Silence. He checked the phone to see if that thing was still on – it was – and asked, “Linda?”

She sighed and said, “Yes, I’m here.”

He frankly did not know why he had called her. He had kept praying his siblings to show up, but they hadn’t – and he just needed guidance, he supposed. He needed guidance from someone who would not manipulate him, like his parents had done for all his life.

“I don’t know what to do,” He admitted after a moment of silence.

The fact that the woman knew the truth was oddly refreshing but there were still things she ignored, there were details and facts she was not and could not be made aware of. She knew Lucifer, however, she had an insight on his brother’s thoughts and mind that very few beings had.

“What makes you think that you have to do something?” She asked.

Always with the questions – but then again: it was her job.

He sighed.

“You can’t fix his messes, Amenadiel.” Linda said.

He actually chuckled at her words, “I was sent here for this very purpose.”

“And you should have learned your lesson,” Linda said.

“But this is wrong!” Amenadiel said. And it was: on so many fronts. The human woman Lucifer had married was – a front, a palliative and a big, giant mess. Once again his brother was acting irrationally and once again the being he was hurting more in the process was himself!

“Why is it wrong?” She asked.

She had slipped in her role of therapist and he wondered whether she was aware of that or, perhaps, it was her way to deal with being friends with celestial beings.

“You know why,” He said.

“You mean besides the fact that he is in love with another woman and he went to hell for her?” She asked. And the edge in her voice told him that she was struggling with that news herself.

“Yes – but it’s not just that.” He said.

“He got married in Vegas, with a stripper and while this is a step back –“ Linda started.

“He can’t break a promise, Linda.” Amenadiel hissed.

He could find loopholes; after all, there was some truth in the saying that the devil was in the detail,  but his word was his bond. Literally. And he didn’t even mention the whole mess with their siblings. He had told Linda about Chloe, and she had promised to visit her and see how she was doing, but old habits were hard to beat.

 But how could the woman offer guidance or even comfort if she didn’t know the truth and the facts?

“He is rebelling, again.” She said eventually. She might not know the facts, yet, and he was sure Maze would fill her in even if he didn’t, but she was right: Lucifer was rebelling, again. The first time he had blindly sided with Father, even if his heart had broken – that time, however, he had been manipulated, he was complicit in what had happened.

He had said the absolute truth to Lucifer, however, when he had told him that he underestimated himself as far as Chloe was concerned: he had proved, time and again, how much he loved that woman – and that was the twisted irony in it: the fact that, despite what Lucifer thought, it was real. How his brother could not see that was something he could genuinely not understand.

“What do I do?” He asked. He heard Lucifer and _Candy_ (honestly, it was like he was purposefully trying to live up to an image that had ceased to be real!) talking in the living room. She was so unbearably bubbly and Father forgave him, he couldn’t stand her voice and how her high heels clicked on the pavement.

“Don’t abandon him,” Linda said, “he is lashing out – he is reenacting a familiar pattern right now.”

He furrowed his brow, puzzled by her words, “What do you mean?”

He heard her sigh and he was reminded, once again, that Lucifer confided in that woman, that he had opened up to her, talked to her – and he wondered how much it must have cost him to do so.

And he knew she would never betray his brother’s trust.  

A familiar pattern – of course, but that time he had chosen to get away from his home, he had chosen to abandon people rather than be shunned, he had chosen to – fall.

“Damn!” He said aloud.

“That pretty much sums it up – are you coming back to Los Angeles?” She asked.

“Yes –“ He said and he felt Lucifer’s eyes on him. His brother was watching him, and he knew that if he turned he would clearly see the anger in his brother’s eyes, but he also knew that he would once again see how their siblings’ intervention was taking its toll on him, he would see the deep shadows under his eyes (identical to the ones Chloe had sported when he last seen her), the exhaustion that he had barely masked around the woman he had married.

“He’s there, isn’t he?” Linda asked.

“Yep, gotta go –“ He said.

“We’ll solve this. We brought him back and saved Chloe, remember?” Linda said.

He did – he remembered, and he didn’t think he had ever been prouder of his little brother or the people that had contributed to that nearly impossible task.

_Oh, Father – I would really need a sign, now._

He thought, closing his eyes.

“Have faith, Amenadiel,” Linda said, before disconnecting the call.

He blinked his eyes open.

Faith.

It did not occur to him, until much later, that it had been the first time in months he had actually prayed His Father.

And it had been longer since He had somehow answered to his prayers.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of the Latin phrase: What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put asunder


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again with the metaphors – and the whole hell thing. Maze had repeated what she had already told her: Lucifer cared about her, Lucifer was an idiot, but she had no idea about what he had done for her.   
> Was it so crazy that she wanted to know? That she wanted to understand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Sorry for the delay in updating: I've been out of town for a couple of weeks, without any decent internet connection. Next updates should be more regular:)  
> Thank you so much to all the people who left feedback and kudos, you rock my world! Enjoy!!

_She shouldn’t be here – they were supposed to be apart, it was for the best,  better than the alternative anyway; what was she doing there?_ Why _was she there?_

_There – being a vague concept, a shapeless, colorless nonplace,  tangible and yet it's very opposite. That,  too,  beat the alternative Not that he truly had had any._

_Still, the detective should be far away from him, but she wasn’t. She was calling his name and what had she done? Why?_

_“Lucifer!” Chloe called._

_Right, of course, she couldn't see him. He should be quiet, he should wait for the darkness to scare her away, to make her waver; he smiled, despite everything: like that was ever going to happen!  Chloe Decker couldn't and wouldn't stop being frustratingly brave as much as he could stop wanting to punish the guilty. It was who they were._

_He felt blood, oozing from the wounds on his body. It didn’t matter – he had made a choice, and had made his peace with it. Chloe, however, had not – had she? Chloe was still calling his name._

_She still thought he was_ worthy _. After everything._

_“Oh, my God!” She breathed as she stepped closer to him._

_“You are not supposed to be here,” He said. Speaking was hard, breathing was hard, but she truly shouldn’t be there. Yet, he had to get up – he had to get away or everything would have been for naught._

_“Shut up, we need to move – can you move?” She asked. He heard how she was masking her fear behind a brisk tone of voice. Brave, selfless as ever._

_She could **not** touch him. _

_Ever again._

_If that had been His father’s idea of punishment (gift, some of his siblings would say), He had truly outdone Himself that time! Still, he had made his choice –_

_“You don’t understand –“ He said. He looked at her – and she was a miracle. She truly was. And he was the Devil, and the two could not mix, “You still don’t understand?”_

_“Shut up, we’re getting out of here!” She replied._

_She was so careful with him- mindful of the fact that every touch hurt him, but she was determined, she was stubborn and she had not abandoned him._

_He tried to smile at that thought, but it hurt too bloody much. He would hurt her too._

_How did she find him?_

He didn’t open his eyes. Amenadiel was driving – and it said something about how utterly tired he was that he had not objected when he had offered to. They had left his monstrosity of a car behind; he had tried to fight sleep, at first, but to be quite honest the polite, albeit somewhat frosty, small talk between Candy and Amenadiel would have put an elephant to sleep.

He was genuinely tired of those dreams – at first, he hadn't minded them too much, he had been surprised, yes, but he had experienced bleeding, dying...  therefore, another bit of humanity, even if Chloe wasn't around, hadn't seemed a big deal.

Well, when he was wrong he was really _monumentally_ wrong!

The latest dream, however, had felt different than any other he had had since it had all started; its texture had felt completely different, it was more his sister's doing – a vision diluted in a dream, and it was unsettling, for many a reason. He had no idea what it meant, he hadn't the slightest clue because while he could recall with perfect clarity the feeling and the texture of his dream ( _vision_ or whatever it was) the actual images faded quite quickly. He wondered whether Chloe was feeling the same, and he immediately squelched that thought.

He would not play His father’s game; not that time, not ever again if he could help it.

Speaking of: he wasn’t sure whether he could trust Amenadiel – hell, he wasn’t sure he could trust anyone at the moment, but he recognized genuine guilt when he saw it – and his brother truly felt guilty and manipulated.

Well, he was the president of the bloody club and the resident lab rat of Father's little plan, whatever it was. His brother had better get in line!

He would also, very gladly, kick his siblings’ arses. And he was planning to. He had no doubts that they would make themselves seen once he was back to Los Angeles. He would deal with the mess, he would make his position clear, once and for all,  and then –

And then what?

"I just want him to be happy." Candy was saying. He had sort of become very good at not listening to what the woman said most of the times, more out of self-preservation than anything else. She sounded sincere, however, which surprised him; he had genuinely thought she was in it for the money! He had wanted her to be in it just for the money!

“I am not sure I am making him happy –“ She continued, some of that irritating joy she always had in her voice fading, “I am trying,  but –“

If he knew his brother – and he did know him, unfortunately – he was probably wearing his best stony-but-wise-and-so-bloody-sanctimonious expression; his own angelic, holier than thou version of a blue steel.

“That’s very good of you, _Candy_ ," Amenadiel said and he didn't miss the way he was saying his wife's name. His brother's face, when he had introduced him to Candy, had been priceless! It had been, perhaps, his first genuine smile since – well, since he had learned the truth about Chloe.

“He is very good to me –“ Candy said, and she felt her fingers brush his hair – and really? Why couldn’t she just stick to his money and the sex? Why did she have to make a big deal out of an otherwise good arrangement for her?

"My brother's capacity for goodness is a well-kept secret in the family," Amenadiel replied drily.

So, so, funny! He thought.

“I didn’t even know he had a brother! Hell, I don’t even know his friends or his family! That’s going to be so cool!” She said – and here she was again: bubbly and overeager.

“Sorry –“ She whispered, “damn, I don’t want to wake him up! He’s not sleeping well…” She kept brushing his hair with her delicate fingers and her impossibly long nails, even when her voice lost all her lightness, again, and her tone was for some reason almost harsh when she asked, “Who is the detective? Did he die or something?”

And that was the moment where he needed to open his eyes, which, he soon found out, was harder than he expected; he literally couldn’t pry them open.

“Why do you ask?” Amenadiel said. He was whispering too, even if he was pretty sure that he knew he was awake.

No, the better question was why was he indulging her? A leopard really could not change its spots; his brother couldn’t help being a manipulative git!

“He says ‘detective’ in his sleep sometimes and he sounds – sad, like, he is heartbroken or something.” She hesitated and sighed.

And he opened his eyes just in time to see the look Amenadiel was giving to his wife through the rearview mirror – and no. Absolutely, definitely _no_!

No sympathy, no hearts to hearts, nothing of the sort would happen in his car! He would not allow it!

"Oh, look who's back!" Amenadiel said, smiling his fakest smile in the history of creation. The irony of it was that the common misconception was that _he_ was the liar in the family when the absolute opposite was true.

“I see you are getting along like a house on fire! Good!” He replied. He was keeping his voice light, finally shrugging off Candy’s arm from his shoulder. It made him itchy – he supposed he had to thank his sister for that. Was sex going to be ruined too?

“She?” Candy asked. She sounded – well, he was not sure, but _not_ happy probably covered it.

He couldn’t say he particularly cared, to be honest.

“Yes. She is – _was_ my partner in my old job.” He replied.

“Wait – is she the friend in trouble?” She asked.

He had told her the truth – more or less – he had told her that his old partner was in trouble and he was needed in Los Angeles. He had given her the choice to stay in Vegas, to keep kicking back and spending his money, but she had refused.

 He turned and looked at her, and yes, he had definitely broken the moment between his brother and her – and, he suspected, some illusion she might have harbored about her role in his life.

“I see –“ She said. Her voice was soft and she was trying very hard not to look hurt.

He felt bad for a moment; even if he knew that he had never, ever, promised her eternal love, he had never even thought about _love._ Not with her. He had made his position very clear, hadn’t he?

 He had been high and drunk when they had got married, but he remembered the vows, he had not hesitated, and he clearly remembered how those vows had had nothing to do with love.

He decided to ignore the hurt look in Candy’s eyes – he was too tired to deal with that as well – and said, “Yes, she is my friend in trouble. Friends help each other out! ”

He felt something bitter on his tongue. Did Chloe not use those words when she had saved Lux? And he was not lying – not exactly – to Candy, but he wasn’t saying the whole truth either.

She nodded and – _great!_ – she was doing that thing with the quivering chin and her lips pressed into a thin line when she tried hard not to cry!

She rummaged through her brand new Prada purse and took a Kleenex and her Ipod.

“Fine!” She said after a moment, and he felt like he had been just dismissed.

The worst of it was that he could barely keep his eyes open and things with Candy weren’t supposed to be like that!

He turned and didn’t miss the disapproving glance his brother sent his direction.

“What?” He said after a moment.

“She cares about you,” Amenadiel said.

As if on cue, Candy started to sing – terribly off key, as always, a Taylor Swift song.

His brother cocked his eyebrows and mumbled, "That's - she's really  -"

“Yes.” He replied with a nod of his head.

“I was thinking – about what to do,” Amenadiel said, wincing at a particular screeching sound Candy made.

He had gotten used to those sounds but still, yeah – she _was_ terrible. And he was being a terrible husband who made his wife cry, but what was done was done, he had made his choice, he had made a promise and he was sticking to it.

“Regarding?” He asked, instead.

“She makes you vulnerable – and she was hospitalized because she is having visions – a doctor touched her at the ER and she –“

“Get to the bloody point!” He said. He couldn’t stand the thought of Chloe hurting. Not because of him, because of His father’s newest move.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you two to meet right now,” Amenadiel said.

“Oh, no – this was designed to make me go back to her,” He said.

“Did it occur to you that Father wants to make amends?” His brother asked and in conjunction with Candy completely slaughtering a Mariah Carey song (he would burn that Ipod as soon as he could, he decided) he all but snarled.

“I don’t care!” He said after a moment. And he didn’t. He truly was beyond caring about what his parents did to bollock up his life at that point. 

“Why are you helping her, then?” Amenadiel asked and he looked confused and, to be honest, worried – whether for him or Chloe he had no idea.

“Because she deserves better.” He said. And it was the truth – regardless of everything else: His Father’s big plan, what he had thought had bloomed between them, his mom’s manipulations, that truth still stood.

“You hurt her, brother –“ Amenadiel said.

He did not reply. What could he say? He knew. And he was hurting too.

And it didn’t matter, none of that mattered: he was wearing a wedding ring and there was a blonde woman in the passenger’s seat singing terribly and she was his wife.

"And she still loves you," Amenadiel said, almost as if he had been reading his thoughts.

Candy was singing, his brother was looking at him expectantly and he was furious and bone tired.

He didn't reply that time either. What could he say? That he still loved Chloe? It was true, absolutely true – but the truth didn't really set people free, that was just propaganda.

“Luci – don’t let your pride blind you. Not about this!” Amenadiel said. And it was his big brother talking, not the faithful soldier, the angel, the first born.

“I – I just want to fix this mess, brother.” He said.

“And then what?” Amenadiel asked.

He shrugged.

He had no idea, and it frankly scared him.

* * *

 

 

 

The doctors had no clue about what had happened to her;  she hadn’t had seizures for over twelve hours, only mild headaches when the nurses had fiddled with her IV and had touched her skin. She clearly remembered what had happened when Ella had touched her and it still did not make any sense whatsoever.

She was still exhausted, but at least she could move and the doctors were talking about discharging her the following day, barring new “episodes”.

Maze had not left – until Linda had come and had all but pushed her out of the room, telling her to go home, have a shower and rest.

Maze had not told her much; she had always prided herself to be a good detective and she could make suspects confess, but Maze – had simply snorted and said, “Decker, I used to torture souls in hell. You don’t scare me!”

Again with the metaphors – and the whole hell thing. Maze had repeated what she had already told her: Lucifer cared about her, Lucifer was an idiot, but she had no idea about what he had done for her.

Was it so crazy that she wanted to know? That she wanted to understand?

The only thing she had been able to gather from Maze was that Lucifer’s parents were somehow involved in their son’s decision to leave Los Angeles.

Linda, apparently, had been informed about what had happened because she did not touch her, she studied her for long seconds after Maze left and then said, “Maze is –“

“Loyal to Lucifer to boot.” She said.

Linda smiled, “Yes, yes – but she is loyal to you as well.”

 

She hated crying. She hated – being in that hospital’s bed, she hated that her life had stopped making sense since her last hospital stay.

Linda scooted closer to her, but didn’t touch her, she was the one who reached out and sought her friend’s hand, not caring about headaches or images that didn’t make any sense.

 

 

_I still don’t understand why, after everything I said about my less positive qualities, she still chose to kiss me!_

 

_I can’t keep track of all these elaborate metaphors!_

_You need to take me seriously, you need to believe what I am saying. Otherwise, you'll never understand I am a  monster, a monster who deserves to be punished!_

Linda stepped back, breaking contact between them, she had probably felt her trembling and she was about to buzz for the nurse when she stopped her.

"No. I am fine! It was – something is happening to me!" She said, trying to ignore how ripe with pain her voice sounded.

Linda nodded, she still looked like she wanted to call a nurse, and Chloe sometimes forgot that Linda wasn’t just her friend and Lucifer’s therapist, but also a doctor.

“You can tell me –“ Linda said.

“You wouldn’t believe me – it’s crazy!” She said.

Linda chuckled at her words, “Oh, try me. I recently found out just how open minded I really am!“

She wasn’t lying, she was looking at her expectantly.

“Why does he think he is a monster that deserves to be punished?” She asked. And it was not what she had meant to say – but it was the closest she could come to it.

What could she tell her? That she had seen things that did not make sense? That she got headaches when people touched her and her dreams were so intense that she woke up more tired than when she had gone to sleep?

Or that she had just heard Lucifer’s voice in her head?

Linda blinked her eyes at her words; she had not expected them, clearly.

"He is not a monster," Linda said firmly.

“I know!” She replied. And yes, she was furious with him and it wasn’t even because he had left her – well, that still hurt – but because he had not trusted her; whatever it was, whatever his parents had said or done he should have trusted her, they could have faced it together.

Linda was clearly searching for what to say, which was uncommon knowing her.

“Chloe – talk to me!” She said eventually.

She did.

* * *

 

 

 

“Mother,”  It was a voice she had not heard for millennia. Her boy, whose task had been to watch over humans’ dreams, who walked on Earth and yet had managed to keep his distance from them so far.

“Duma, son!” Charlotte said. She hid her surprise behind a smile. The smile, however, was genuine. She had missed him – she missed all her children!

She had not heard or felt his arrival in her office. She could feel her boy's power, even if he was wearing a bespoke black suit that made him look more like a lawyer than – well, an angel. And, apparently, his fashion sense was not that dissimilar than Lucifer's.

She took a step toward him and he stopped her, saying, “Don’t _even_ think about it!” 

“Have you come to bring me back to hell?” She asked. If he were – well, she would accept it; she would have no choice, really. 

Duma stepped toward her and said, “You are serving a sentence here on Earth, mother. Father sees it as a fit punishment.”

And yet Uriel had been sent to Earth to smite her out of existence or so they had thought at first. Had her boy's initiative part of her husband's plan too?  Was sacrificing one of their children so that Lucifer could grow more and more attached to that cesspool and all the bugs in it, worth it?

“I see.” She said, she forced another smile on her lips and asked, “Why are you here, then?”

She sat on her desk, crossing her legs and continued, “Does your Father know you are here?”

Duma cocked an eyebrow at her, “I am certain He does.” He said.

Of course, her children and their blind faith in their Father. Things had not changed much, apparently. 

Well, something had – of all her children why was Duma there? And if he was, it stood to reason that some of his siblings were not far behind. They used to be inseparable.

“Why are you here?” She asked, again.

“Mother –“ Duma said and drew in a breath. He looked worried, the perfect shape of his lips was pressed into a thin line and his nervousness came to her in waves. It was – not how she remembered her son.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He said eventually.

“I’m sorry?” She said. She did not even pretend to look confused. Lucifer and Amenadiel were her boys, but they were also fallen angels, it was far easier to use the truth and the twists of fate with them. Duma, however, was still living in the Silver City, he was still too close to His father. He would have no troubles reading right through that – meat sack.

“Mother – do _not_ play dumb with me!” Duma said. His voice was deep, rich and dripping with wrath.

“Mind your tongue with me, boy!” She snapped.

She caught sight of the silver ring on her son’s index finger, and his eyes too flashed silver for a moment.

“Or what?” He said, “I asked you a question: what were you thinking?”

It was a good question, actually. She had been wondering, as well. She had been a selfish mother and as a result, she had lost two sons: one to oblivion, the other to heartbreak.

“I just wanted to go home – and us to be a family again.” She said, after a moment, looking at her son.

“Want to try with the whole truth?” He asked. He had not moved, and yet it felt like he was _everywhere_ in the room. And he was angry, which frankly surprised her since her boy had always been rational and quite detached from all that had happened in their family.

“Ok, fine: I am mad at your father and I wanted to get even, happy now?” She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Duma nodded his head, “I see. So you used Sam- Lucifer and Amenadiel and the humans to get back at Him. And you honestly believe that it would bring you back home?” He asked.

Interesting. Her son had almost used Lucifer’s first name – whatever had lead him to? That name had not been used for a very long time, even she had known better than use him with her son since she had come to Earth.

“I was wrong,” She said. And she had been. She had broken her son’s heart and she would never, ever forgive herself for that.

“Evidently – and you made a huge mess, mother!” Duma said.

He _cared_. She realized. In his own way, he cared about Lucifer and about the _humans_ , He might not mingle with them like her beloved younger son, he might not have fallen in love with a mortal, but he did care.

What was it with humans and her children getting so attached to them? She still couldn’t see the appeal. She probably never would.

Her son rolled his eyes – could he read her thoughts? 

“You are human, mother. Your vessel is strong, but it’s just that: a vessel!” Duma replied. So, in short, yes: he could read her thoughts. It was unsettling. 

“You still haven’t told me why you are here, son –“ She said. She was not scared, not of her own son. That was just preposterous! Nevertheless, she did not move, she waited for him to talk.

“We have been sent here to fix your mess!” Duma said.

“We?” She asked. So, she had been right – her children were on Earth and were being busy carrying out their father's  orders.

"Yes," Duma replied.

“Is Michael there too?” She asked. Her beloved son – they had not parted on the best of terms, but she missed him, her whole being ached to see him.

Duma actually scoffed at her words. It was a very human sound, one she didn’t remember her son ever making. “No, it’s just Laoel and me for now, but Father spoke to us all. And mother: Lucifer would _not_ react well to Michael, especially now!”

He had a point. Then again, Lucifer and Amenadiel used to have a difficult relationship as well, and they had grown so close lately, it was almost like it used to be back home. It was perhaps one of the few good things that had happened to her since being confined in that ridiculous sack of meat!

“Mother, do you love Lucifer?” Duma asked.

“Of course, I do – with all my being! What sort of question is that?” She replied. She stepped toward her son saying, “I went back to hell for him!”

“Well, I hope you mean it because before this is over you might have to prove that it’s not just words –“ Duma said.

That time, he allowed her to touch him, they were at eye level, and she had not been wrong: he was worried, she did not remember ever seeing her son so preoccupied.

 “Is it part of your Father’s plan?” She asked cradling his face in her hands. 

He swallowed, “Mother – we are working hard trying to fix the mess you’ve made. Do you remember what happened last time Lucifer was broken hearted?”

She did. How could she _ever_ forget? He had forsaken His Father’s name, he had been cast out, he had yearned for her to do something, and she hadn’t, not really. Yet, he had been proud, even while his grace was torn to shred during the fall.

He hadn't sounded or looked defeated. Not like outside that hospital. He had accepted hired punishment,  rather than admitting being heartbroken.

“Yes, son –“ She said eventually.

“It’s worse this time because it’s not about him, it’s about someone else!”

“The human your Father put in his path, you mean!” She said, trying very hard not to hiss and not completely succeeding.

Duma grabbed her wrists, but his voice was calm, soothing even when he said,  “Mother – you do not know Father’s plan any more than I do.”

“And whose fault is it?  He never deigns to explain!” She said jerking free from her son’s hold,  “And I didn’t know how much it would hurt him!”

“That’s because you can’t touch his essence. Not in your vessel.” Duma said. He still sounded worried, and she knew her son – or, at least she used to – there were still things he wasn’t telling her.

And she hadn’t been completely honest. No – it was worse than that: she had just lied to her son. She had known that Lucifer loved the human, she just hadn’t cared about the consequences. She still didn’t, truth be told. But if the price for going back home was his son’s hatred, his broken heart, it wasn’t one she wasn’t willing to pay.

“You are right,” She said, “and yes, I am willing to do whatever it takes to fix my ‘mess’!” She used air quotes, but she was sincere. She wanted to – fix what she had done and she needed her children to know that they could count on her.

"Good, because Lucifer and Amenadiel are not your biggest fans right now and things will probably get complicated," Duma replied.

“Son, what did your father ask you to do?” She asked.

Duma didn’t reply to her – and of course, she should have expected that; she had to earn her son’s trust. She had to show with facts that she would do whatever it took to help her children.

"By the way," Duma said, "Lucifer is coming back as we speak, and he got married to a stripper. Amenadiel will probably tell you himself, but I thought you should know."

With those words, he disappeared, and she blinked her eyes, the disbelief at her son's words was almost staggering.

Did he really just say that Lucifer had gotten married to a stripper? She did not care one way or another about that woman’s job, she was still stuck to what her stubborn boy had done.

Her son had talked about punishing His father. But – she suspected that he still wasn’t done punishing himself and she had not helped matters.

Well, she could now. She had to.

 

* * *

 

 

Chloe was asleep by the time Maze came back to the hospital. It took Linda one look to understand that the demon (and one day it would stop feeling so damn surreal to say or think that) had been informed about Lucifer’s latest _idiocy._

“I’m gonna kill him!” She said.

And she hated being right all the time!

“You are taking it better than I expected.” She replied.

“I emptied all his bottles in the penthouse in the sink –“ Maze replied with a casual shrug of her shoulders. 

 _Right_ – Maze had mostly stayed at Lucifer's since he had left. She had not told her why, but she supposed that she had wanted to avoid confronting Chloe about the truth. 

Linda smiled at her friend – it was a progress: Maze was trying not to react with fury whenever she was angry (which, admittedly, was almost her default status) and she was making huge progress.

“He still isn’t back?” She asked.

"Oh, he is – he settled the skank in a hotel!  He's on his way here -" Maze replied.

Oh – that was _interesting._ From what Lucifer had told her his penthouse had always been _very_

What was surprising her was that Lucifer had chosen not to share his home with the woman he had married. She knew, of course, that it was unlikely that he cared about her, and not because he was the devil – no, it was just that she had rarely met someone so _taken_ and so in denial about his feelings. It was one of the most frustrating aspects of her sessions with Lucifer.

He had opened up a lot – going so far to admit that he was screwed up, which had been a huge step up, one that had registered to her only after that particular session (in her defense: she had just found out that her patient was actually the real _devil_!), but he was still confused and in denial about Chloe Decker and what he clearly felt for her.

“You’re making that face –“ Maze said.

“What face?” She asked.

“The shrink one –“ Maze replied. She took a look at Chloe and said, “she’s going to kick his ass and I’m not going to stop her!”

“Maze – what’s going on?” She asked. She knew Amenadiel, as usual, was skirting the truth and she knew she would not get an answer from Lucifer, not in the immediate future; nevertheless, it was clear that something was happening: Chloe’s dreams – the visions (seriously, though, could her life get any weirder?), Lucifer’s actions. She needed answers.

“Let’s go outside for a moment –“ Maze said.

Linda raised her eyebrows at her words; she had been given precise instructions not to leave Chloe alone, not to touch her – and not to let anyone touch her.

"Lucifer is in Los Angeles unless his siblings have a death wish, they won't do jack squat,  now!" Maze said.

Just – how many siblings did Lucifer actually have? She followed Maze outside and closed the door behind her.

“So?” She asked.

"Long story short: daddy dearest put Decker in Lucifer's path, she's a miracle, his mother used this thing to manipulate him – he left because of that, and now both Lucifer and Chloe are having dreams – "

"Lucifer is having dreams too?" She asked. Chloe had told her about her dreams, about how vivid they were, how some of them scared her – how they were draining her, making it harder and harder to focus during the day and not only do her job but also caring for her daughter.

“Yep. Courtesy of daddy and his siblings.” Maze replied.

“Wait – why would Go – his father do that?” She replied. It was far easier to think in human terms. She had to if she wanted to keep her sanity.

Maze shrugged, “How would I know? But Amenadiel told me that it’s getting worse for Lucifer too – and now that he’s here? If she doesn’t kill him because he married _Candy,_ the dreams will!”

“Wait a moment – dreams cannot kill people!” She exclaimed.

"Not the dreams – but the stress on a human body caused by contact with the divine can...trust me!" Maze said.

“Well, I’ve had plenty of contact with the divine –“ She said, “and I’m fine.”

"He holds back – we all do: Lucifer, Amenadiel and me." Maze said matter of factly.

The idea of Lucifer holding back – was almost an oxymoron and even the same concept applied to Maze; it almost did not compute.

Maze, however, looked very serious. She had meant every word.  She had told her the truth.

"What happens when you don't hold back?" She asked. But she sort of knew the answer already; she had taken just a peek at Lucifer's eyes and face, and she had had to sleep with all her lights on for over a week. And she cared about Lucifer – and he cared, in his own way, about her.

Maze gestured at Chloe’s room, “That’s what happens.” She said.

“But why?” She asked. It felt like the day she had heard the devil, an angel, a demon and a goddess discussing plans and strategies about going to hell to retrieve an antidote. It felt absolutely crazy!

 “To make him come back here? I don’t know Linda – Amenadiel is as lost as me about this.” Maze replied. She looked angry and frustrated – and worried. One of the things she admired the most about Maze was how fiercely protective she was of the people close to her: she was relentless in her efforts to defend those she cared about.

 “So, Lucifer is acting out against his parents and His Father is sending his siblings here to – what? Make him even angrier?” She asked.

“I’m not exactly the right person to ask about Lucifer’s dad,” She said with a grin, “and I had told them to waste that bitch – I told you: she is toxic!”

 She had. And at the time she had genuinely thought she was jealous because of her complex relationship with Lucifer. And she did have a complex relationship with him, but she had also said the truth.  

 “What can we do to help them?” She asked.

Maze looked at her approvingly, but before she could say anything two things happened: Chloe started screaming inside her room right as Lucifer walked out of the elevator.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 _That was_ before _. She was certain of that. She did not know before of what, however. There was just darkness around her; it was thick and sticky, it felt like it was clinging to her skin, wanting to get deeper, inside of her._

_There were no sounds, not even her footsteps as she walked. There was a smell – like burnt plastic and it was making it hard to breathe._

_He was there, she knew that. Lucifer was there. The idiot had done something (what?) and there had been a before – there had been his lips covering hers, and his hands on her hips and tears of blood and that was where she would find him._

_She had to bring him home._

_Hands. They were clawing at her, they were ice cold, and she fought – she had been warned it would happen, hadn’t she? Who did warn her? When? She didn’t remember – but it had been before that darkness, that much she knew._

_“Lucifer!” She cried his name, not because she needed his help, but to make sure he was safe, away from that._

_He was not a monster, it did not matter how many times he repeated it. He was –_

_“Leave her be!” It was a woman’s voice._

_She had been warned about that as well, even if she did not remember it happening._

_She – knew her. She had already seen her, hadn’t she?_

_She could see her, even in the pitch black darkness surrounding her: her red hair, her white tunic, the almost impossible hue of her eyes and the way she was looking at her; as if she was something on a petri dish._

_But the hands and claws had disappeared and she felt like she could breathe without that darkness getting inside of her._

_“He saved you.” The woman said. She was speaking in English, but she wasn’t sure it was her first language or – truth be told – whether she was used to speaking, at all._

_"Lucifer? Yes, he has, " She said.  Yes. It had happened, before... when they had met and again,  later.  Chloe was not a coward,  she had never been, and yet she could feel slivers of fear running throughout her body._

_“Time is irrelevant,” The woman said. Her voice was like ice and velvet._

_What the hell was that supposed to mean? Where was she? Who was that woman?_

_“Will you save him when time comes?” She asked._

_“Yes, of course! He’s my partner!” She said._

_There was more – there would be more – there had been more. Crap, she was right, time really was irrelevant in that darkness._

_“Fascinating –“ The woman said, “you were made for him –“_

_Light. It was piercing through the darkness surrounding her, but what the woman – and was it really a woman? – had told her rang true. There had been a before, in the Lux, there had been words – but she was not supposed to know that, wasn’t she?_

_“I need to find him! Where is he?” She asked._

_The woman smiled, “Are you sure?” She asked, “You know who he is – you have a choice,”_

_“Where is Lucifer?” She asked._

_Hands, again, clawing at her, darkness even thicker than it had been._

_“Follow me,” The woman said._

_She started moving._

* * *

 

 

 

In the end, it didn't matter, he didn't care about _pride_ or revenge or anything else, really. In the end, all that mattered to him crystallized in one second, one sound, one place and a precise moment in time: Chloe's agonizing screams coming from her hospital room.

Chloe was screaming and not even His Father would have stopped him from getting into her room.

Well, no one tried to. He saw Maze and Dr. Linda at the periphery of his field vision which, admittedly, had zeroed on that door behind which Chloe was screaming.

He had not even tried and imagined what being reunited with Chloe would be like – he had left Los Angeles thinking he would never see her again – it had been the whole bloody point, actually.

Well, he definitely had not anticipated the screams or that he would push the door of her room open or that his senses would be overwhelmed: had his siblings dipped her in their divinity? Had they lost their minds or were they trying to make Chloe lose hers?

There wasn’t really time to think because it was like being in that hangar, again, on that pavement, bleeding out – except that he was not dying that time (close, perhaps, but no – he was _not_ dying) and he could move and he did, he could reach out to her: he covered the distance that separated him from that bed with three steps, only three – after weeks (how many? They had sort of blurred into each other in his mind) apart from her, and he ignored the fact that the fat guy had finally, finally got off his chest as soon as he saw Chloe.

He was home – at last.

He ignored everything, including his own corny and inane thoughts – everything faded out except for the woman who was thrashing in her bed: her eyes open but unseeing, letting out terrified screams.

He didn’t think – he didn’t pray (perhaps he did, deep down, but the realization would come later) he just – moved, oblivious of the small crowd that was gathering outside the room, stopped by Maze from getting into the room.

“I’m here!” He said. And for some reason that he could not honestly fathom, it felt like the first words he had uttered since – well, since the last time he had seen her, in another hospital.

She was clawing air, her pupils were so blown that he doubted she was truly aware of her surroundings or that he was there. That was not a dream or a vision – that was bloody, sodding torture!

Alarms beeped as he stepped over those useless machines that could not, would not tell what was really wrong with her.

She was burning up – and he had no time to be afraid of touching her, he could not afford the luxury of second guessing himself and what he was doing.

She was hurting – she was in agony and she did not deserve any of that; that was the only thing that moved him, that made him ignore the stabs of pain he himself felt as he took her in his arms, his hands closing around her wrists because she was a fighter, she was a warrior and she had been about to try and scratch that _thing_ out of herself, except that it would not have worked.

“I’m here – I’ll fix this, I swear!” He said, cradling her against his body, his lips touching her skin.

And touching her, being together again shouldn’t have been like that; it shouldn’t have been utter misery for both of them.

The skin of her forehead was too hot against his lips, but he did not mind – he was used to scorching heat; he didn't even mind the fact that his heart was hammering so fast and hard against his ribcage that it felt like it might burst out of it any second, now.

"Breathe, Chloe –" He said. It was awkward: he was half sitting, half splaying on her bed, she was thrashing against his chest, as he held her wrists (would there be bruises, later?), his lips still against her forehead, hers against his chin and he could smell _it_ on her: Duma’s touch and Laoel and too much divinity for a human body and brain to handle without coming undone at the seams.

He felt he deflate against his chest, her screams subduing into lungful of breaths, even as her body kept spamming over and over. 

He had no clue whether she was even aware he was there, he was acutely aware, however, of the blood, her blood, on his shirt – of the crimson drops at the sides of her mouth and of the pain in his body.

He kept holding her, however, he wasn’t going anywhere until he was sure she would be fine.

She was mouthing words, against his chin, her hot breath almost painfully scorching against his skin but he held her even tighter, pretending he wasn’t sensing what she was saying, muttering, over and over.

_Afraid. Dark. Not a monster. Red eyes. Not going to leave you. Don’t leave me._

“Look at me!” He whispered, not willingly, but because his lungs, his throat, did not allow him to do more.

Time was a weird thing, and he half suspected that another of his siblings was messing with his head – he would have thought of Amenadiel if he still had his powers, but no –  no, seconds were ticking by with agonizingly slowness, even for a celestial being, as he waited for Chloe's breathing to even out, for her body to stop trembling and her gaze to focus, to recognize him.

He wasn’t aware, and he would have denied angrily if someone told him that he kept whispering against her skin, “I’m not going to leave you. I’m here –“ and, most importantly, “I’m sorry.”, over and over.

Seconds. Minutes. His body aching and definitely _not_ in a pleasant way, his breath and Chloe’s the only sounds in the room – he idly noticed how in sync they were. Was he helping her breath or was it the other way around? He couldn’t tell, he didn’t even have the depth or the lucidity to really dwell on that fragment of thought that had made its way in his head.

She was breathing, he was holding her in his arms, her heartbeat didn’t sound like a crazed drum any longer, that was what mattered.

As for his own heartbeat – well, who cared?

There were people outside, doctors, nurses, Maze, Dr. Linda,  even Dan who had chosen that moment to pop up for a visit, apparently.

They would not get in. Not until Chloe looked at him and recognized him and he was sure she was fine. Then and only then he would deal with his siblings.

He wasn’t aware whether he had prayed or not – but he did talk to his siblings, His Father and whoever was listening.

The message was one and one only: “I’m here, leave her out of this or I _will_ unleash Hell on Earth!”

The response was immediate, out of the corner of his eyes he saw Duma, his arsehole brother, standing near the window.

"We need to talk," Duma said.

He held Chloe tighter against his chest and looked at him; if he wanted to talk to him he would better undo whatever he was doing to the detective. He had not bluffed, he was past caring about playing nice with his family. 

“Fine –“ Duma said and Lucifer was aware that the people outside weren’t really seeing his brother, he felt the texture of reality shifting around him. Good. 

When his brother got close he had to rely on all his will power not to let his eyes flash red, not to let the whole extent of his fury out. That was not the moment, not when he was holding Chloe in his arms and she was still trembling.

He watched Duma brush Chloe’s forehead with the pad of his fingers and yes, he would smite him out of existence. Gladly and guiltlessly.

“Let’s go,” Duma said.

Oh, he wholeheartedly agreed with his brother: they needed to go and they would have a nice little talk; if by talking his brother meant him ripping his wings off bare handed.

“Lucifer –“ Chloe sighed, against his chest and her voice was so soft, now. He looked down, at her, forgetting all about his arseholes siblings and couldn’t help smiling his first, real, genuine smile for – weeks? Months, maybe. She was in his arms. She really was and he was pretty sure it was not a dream. He was painfully awake.

"I'm here, darling." He replied. He could see the gold of his wedding ring sparkling in stark contrast with the white of the sheet underneath them and he closed his eyes, ignoring it when he kissed her forehead.

Yes, he had made a promise, a vow – and he would stick to it. But he had just made a promise to Chloe as well – and he felt it, far more strongly than any promise he had ever made.

"Now, brother," Duma said.

“Just give me a moment, will you?” He replied.

Chloe’s skin was still too hot, but it was not as scorchingly so has it had been when he had first held her in his arms.

“Daddy?” He dimly heard the offspring’s voice, what the hell was she doing there?

“Who’s the lady in white?” Trixie asked.

Lucifer felt a chill ran up and down his spine. He could not see her – he could not even feel her presence, but – there was only one of his siblings who only wore white: Azrael, the angel of death.

 

* * *

 

 The sky was leaden; it was hot and humid and Lucifer would have made a deal with himself not to feel so drained of energy and so exhausted. Apparently, no one except for Trixie had seen his sister, not even Maze who had sensed Duma’s presence – at least judging by the feral look in her eyes - but had promptly found excuses and distracted the child,  as he left the room once Chloe had fallen asleep.

The rooftop was empty, thankfully. He had ignored everyone outside the room and had just followed that feeling, deep in his gut, that had led him there.

s, all things considered, but he did not like that Chloe’s daughter had seen her, when not even he had felt her presence.

And he did not like that he had been strong handed into returning to Los Angeles. What point was His father trying to make – that He was omnipotent? He sort of already knew that! Or did He want to drive home that He still called the shots? And that he would never be free? He had sort of got that message as well. It was hard not to.

“Brother –“ Duma said. He was behind him – and Lucifer had to plaster a smile on his face as he turned. He really had to, or he would rip his brother’s heart out and that would require wasting time he didn’t want to lose. He wanted to go back to Chloe’s room.

Night blue wings on full display; his blue robe was catching the pale light coming from the sky; Duma was expecting to be attacked and honestly, at least Laoel was fun to be around when she wasn’t being a sneaky little rascal. 

“I got your message. You made it very clear.” He said.

“The latest development was not intentional,” Duma said.

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” He asked.

 “It’s an explanation,” He replied, matter of factly.

How typical of his siblings. At least Amenadiel’s stick up his arse had loosened up a bit lately. 

“What was Azrael doing in the detective’s room?” He asked. As much as he hated what his siblings were doing, his sister’s presence made things – different, in ways he did not want to contemplate. 

Duma looked surprised at his words, he was a sneaky bastard, but he had never been a convincing liar, therefore he believed him when he said, “Well, she was not there for your detective, her life was not in immediate danger and had you not come I would have intervened myself! Are you sure it was her?”

“The detective’s daughter saw her.” He explained.

“Fascinating –“ Duma said and he was so, utterly and completely done with that crap!

He moved, as quickly as he could and part of him knew that Duma had wings, was not a fallen angel and was, therefore, stronger than him; he didn't care – he grabbed him by his neck and his brother let him.

“Allow me to remind you, brother mine, that you cannot kill humans! Dad’s rules!” He snarled.

"I told you that the latest development was unexpected and that I would not have allowed her to die!" Duma replied as calmly as he expected him to.

“Very well, now that you’ve got my full and undivided attention – leave her out of this!” He hissed against his brother’s face.

Duma’s lips curled in a smirk. “Oh, Luci –“

He was quick, and it hurt when he sent him flying and his back hit a concrete wall – because he was still too close to Chloe, nevertheless he got to his feet and walked toward his brother.

“I am not going to fight you, Lucifer –“ Duma said.

“You chose the wrong way to show it, brother!” He said.

“Your place is here – with the detective.” Duma continued and, apparently, he had to be more convincing because his brother didn’t seem too fazed by his words.

“Let me make things clear, brother: I am not a pawn, I am not dad’s newest pet project! Tell Him to make up His mind!” He said, “Am I to go back to Hell or am I to stay here? Oh, wait – he wants to run his little experiment! Well, pass!”

“You did not hear His side of the story, you overreacted, as usual,” Duma said, and his voice was warm, soothing now – and Lucifer remembered how things used to be – _before._ How his brother used that tone of voice all the time, before – he fell; before he was tasked with dealing with humans' dreams.

“Did I, now?” He asked, shaking himself from those thoughts, “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, I can’t abide Dad’s wishes whatever they are. Sorry. I am a married man, now!”

Duma shook his head, “Is this supposed to faze Father? Have you met Him?” He took a step toward him and said, “She is cured now. But you, brother? I fear it hasn’t even started yet.”

His voice was still rich, warm, soothing – and the irony of it was that he could see real worry in his eyes, for him – and a hint of regret.

“Is it a threat?” He asked. He wasn’t worried – as long as Chloe was safe, he could and would deal with whatever his family threw at him.

“I don’t do _threats_. I am not Michael! In fact, Father sent Laoel and me to avoid a confrontation with Michael. You know how he is. Did it occur to you that Azrael might not have been in the room for the detective?"

"I am not afraid of dying – I'd just go back to hell." He replied. He even smiled at his brother. While he didn't particularly like the idea of going back to Hell –   he had spent eons there and there was nowhere else he could go to. And well, at least it had not been Michael. That was a confrontation he really wasn't in the mood for!

“Says who?” Duma replied. And Lucifer noticed that his wings had disappeared. Weird, he hadn’t even heard or felt anything.

“Whatever do you mean?” He asked. And he did not like what he had just heard. Not one bit.

“Exactly what I said. You told Father that you would go wherever He wished if He kept Chloe safe, remember?” Duma said.

“I died not so long and I popped right back to Hell!” He replied. What his brother was implying was simply preposterous!

"You forgot, brother – that Father created Hell and one of our siblings is guarding the gates in your absence," Duma said.

He walked the few steps that separated them, he was a few inches shorter than him, and Lucifer had to tilt his head slightly down to look at him. His brother was not filled with wrath, he was carrying on the task their Father had assigned him, nothing more nothing less.

Nevertheless, he put his hands on Duma’s shoulders and said jovially, “I killed Uriel, brother! What makes you think I would not kill you?”

"Your dreams, brother," Duma replied, his gaze fixed on his.

“I never –“ He trailed.

“You did. I waved them away –“ His brother said, interrupting him.

He believed him; he knew Duma was behind the dreams he had been having and, apparently, he had avoided him having them in the past. It figured, actually.

“Why?” He asked.

"Father asked me to," Duma replied.

He supposed he should be angry at his brother’s words and what they implied, but to be honest he wasn’t. Not really.

And whatever question he might have had for his siblings; especially why had they put Chloe and him through all of that would have to wait, apparently, because his brother had disappeared.

Chloe was cured. Duma, however, had not said a word about him. 

 

* * *

 

The room was starting to feel a little cramped. Everyone was there: Maze, Amenadiel, Dan, Linda, Trixie. Amenadiel kept throwing furtive glances both at Ella, who had just got in the room, bringing balloons and flowers and the door, as if expecting something – well, someone, to arrive any moment.

They were her – friends, her chosen family; but yes, she was starting to feel cramped.

“I said I’m fine – even the doctors said so!” She protested.

At least none of them had called her mother, she was frankly too tired to deal with her, atop everything else, at the moment.

“Just humor me, alright?” Dan asked, “You really scared us, Chlo.”

She sighed. She was sorry about that – she was sorry that her daughter had had to see her again in a hospital bed and, from what Maze had told her, she had been there right where – her _crisis_ had happened, not that she remembered any of it.

The truth was – she felt fine, now. More than fine, actually. She wanted to go home.

“Any news on Amanda Palmer’s murder?” She asked.

Dan shook his head chuckling, “Really?” He asked.

“Yes, really!” She countered. She had not forgotten the case – and she wanted to go home and back to work. She wanted her life back. She felt like she had just woken up from a very long, very messy dream.

“Nada –“ Ella replied. She looked almost scared to address her and, well, she could not blame her, really. She had sort of lost it the last time they had seen each other. But she was fine, now – and she showed it by reaching out to her and giving a gentle squeeze to her hand. See? Nothing. No weird images, sounds or feelings. 

“All alibis panned out, we got nothing on the crime scene – we’re sort of …” Dan trailed.

“Stuck?” She asked.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He replied.

"Mommy?" Trixie asked, interrupting them. It was so good to hold her in her arms. She wasn't getting headaches or hearing voices, it was just her little monkey – and she felt like she could properly breathe with her; she was playing with her fingers, but she was burrowing into her, she had been scared and it wasn't fair to her.

“Yes, monkey?” She said.

“When is Lucifer coming back?” She asked.

And – that was the first time her daughter had asked that question. She hadn’t even mentioned him since he had left Los Angeles; she ignored the fact that she could feel her friends’ eyes on her and said, “I don’t know, Trixie.”

“But he was just here – he hugged you and the pretty lady in white was looking at you both!” Her daughter said.

Wait – what?

She looked at Maze, furrowing her brow: was Lucifer back? Why couldn't she remember? Why had no one told her when she had woken up from – whatever the hell had happened to her?

Maze nodded her head, but she exchanged a glance with Amenadiel that she did not like. At all.

And Dan must have sensed the tension in the room caused by Trixie's words because after a pointed glance at her, a soft kiss on her forehead, he pretty soon got out of the room bringing Ella, Trixie, and Linda with him.

"Did he come here?" She asked once they were alone in the room.

Well, Linda probably knew as well, but that was the problems, wasn’t it? She already knew so much – she had opened up to her and she had not thought she was crazy or that she was going crazy.

“Yeah –“ Maze replied, “swooped right in, like prince fucking charming.”

She didn’t remember. She couldn’t remember what had happened since the last time she had fallen asleep, after talking to Linda and bawling her eyes out like a baby.

"I don't understand –" She said shaking her head.

"That makes it two of us." Maze said, sitting on the bed, "but you're good now, can't smell them on you anymore –"

“For God’s sake – smell what on me?” She said.

Amenadiel had not said a word, he looked lost in his own thoughts, he looked – terrified, actually.

“You said you would tell me everything –“ She said, “well, I’m listening!”

Amenadiel looked at her, with the most intense deer caught in the streetlights she had ever seen since – well since she had gone to Lux and given Lucifer the paperwork that would ensure his home's safety.

And there was something else – something that she had refused to think about, until that very moment: her daughter had seen a lady in white – and she had dreamed of one.

What the hell was going on?

"Start talking!" She said, "Both of  you!"

* * *

 

 She knew better than going anywhere near the hospital where the detective was staying or even at Lux, but Amenadiel had told her where Lucifer had _parked_ his wife. A hotel. Her son was so full of contradictions, he had always been – but to get married just to spite His father, because clearly, that was what he had tried to do, was simply ridiculous!

She had promised Amenadiel that she would not interfere, and she would not – but there was a reason if Duma had told her about the latest development in Lucifer’s life, and she needed to see it for herself.

She did not care about humans with perhaps the exception of her vessel’s offsprings (they had sort of grown on her), and she most certainly did not care about Chloe Decker. But it was clear that her son did and that had to be enough.

She would find a way to go back home to Heaven and her son would help her, but that did not mean that she had to break his heart again in the process. Whether Lucifer was in the room or not, she would carry on that ridicule pantomime, as per his request, it had taken her a while but she did understand how biologically implausible it was for that body to have mothered her sons, but if he wasn’t there – well, she would wait for him, with her daughter in law. 

After all, one didn’t really need to do more than _talk_ ing to humans to get results.

 

* * *

 

 They were stalling, they were still exchanging glances and skirting the truth – whatever it was. Apparently, Amenadiel had had a change of heart; he had told her that it was not their story to tell, that Lucifer should tell her the truth. He had told her that he had expected his brother to be there, with her.

“But you are safe now, and that’s all that matters to him.” He had said.

Great. Just fantastic! Lucifer could make grand gestures and somehow retrieve the exact formula for the antidote to the poison that had been killing her, he could sweep in and find a solution to whatever the hell had brought her to the hospital, but he couldn’t be bothered to stay and talk to her!

Why? 

She knew exactly how many days had been since she had last seen Lucifer... If one didn't count the dreams she had had. 

Speaking of dreams: Amenadiel had been aware of them, for some reason and they had seemed important enough for him to ask about them.

"The dreams started the night I discovered Lucifer had left Los Angeles," She said.

She would not tell Lucifer's brother what she had dreamt about and it occurred to her that she had no idea what Amenadiel did for a living.

"You're safe now," The man said,  repeating what he had already told her, not that it made any sense. 

"Where is he, now? " She asked.

If it was Lucifer's story to tell, if she was safe (from what? From whom? Were her dreams somehow connected to professor Carlisle's  custom designed poisons?),  if he had hauled his ass back to Los Angeles,  then she wanted to see him ( _needed_ ,  a voice in the back of her mind suggested ), even if she had to walk barefoot to Lux or wherever the hell he was!

"He..." Maze, who had been uncharacteristically silent while Amenadiel chickened out, hesitated for a moment  before saying, "He's on the rooftop –“

She didn’t even want to know how Maze knew since she hadn’t left her side for a moment, she didn’t care.

_Did you know? All this bloody time, did you know?_

She had completely forgotten about that and to be honest she hadn’t really paid much attention to what Lucifer had said at the time – but now, she couldn’t get those words out of her head.

“Ok,” She said, looking at Amenadiel, “out!”

The man furrowed his brow, in confusion, “Chloe…”

Oh, right – now she could see the resemblance with Lucifer: complete idiots, both of them!

“I need to get dressed – out!” She specified.

Once again, Maze and Amenadiel exchanged a glance, and she was so very tired of all that secrecy, of them acting as if she couldn’t deal with whatever Lucifer’s deal was. Yes, she would probably get very angry when she saw him, she didn’t exclude that she would throw a punch or two, but she would hear the truth.

He owed her that – no, he owed it to both of them!

* * *

 

 

He should have left, he should have pulled himself together, grit his teeth, bear the pain until he was far away from the hospital (bloody Duma had cracked his ribs, among  other things, when he had thrown him against the wall), but the truth was that he had needed time, which was ironic since he was immortal, but the idea of going back to Lux or, worse, at the hotel where Candy was (and he genuinely hoped that she was maxing out one of the cards he had given her on Rodeo Drive) had made it impossible for him to move. 

Los Angeles used to feel like home for him and he remembered so clearly how good that realization had felt – and how Dr. Linda had made things clear – and how that elation had turned into something else, which he could now see clearly for what it had been: panic.

Then again, none of it had been real, hadn’t it? His Father had seen to that, and he didn’t care that his siblings had told him that perhaps he should listen to the other side of the argument. There was _no_ other side,  not really. He had put Chloe in his life,  had made that sure she got under his skin, became essential for him and then had watched him dance. 

He must have laughed Himself silly the day he had begged for His oh, so precious help.

And,  of course,  his word was his bond; therefore if Daddy dear had created a special hell for him or the bloody Twilight Zone he would have no choice but to comply and go there.

He couldn’t even smoke a cigarette because breathing was sort of hard at the moment, not that it was stopping him from trying – he knew that he would have to leave the hospital because he had had time to think about what had happened and what his brother had said and, more importantly, what he had _not_ said.

Duma had not said a word about his own dreams and visions – and he couldn’t help grimacing a little at the idea of potentially having visions.  He didn’t remember his sister being so sneaky, not with her own siblings, at least.

Duma had not said a word about Chloe’s visions either, which would not really solve her problems; there was also the matter of Azrael’s presence, how he had not even felt her, but the spawn had seen her, which was admittedly curious.

The icing on the horrible cake was what his brother had implied about Azrael’s presence in the room and – well, all the rest too.

He was sure he was still banned from Heaven, not that he would ever go back there, even if he could, but if what his brother had said was true – what would the alternative be?

How soon would it happen?

He winced in pain when he took a drag from his cigarette and threw it to the ground stubbing it under his foot.

_Chloe._

The fact that he was feeling pain so intensely could only mean one thing: she was closer; he had noticed that despite being apart for weeks – and he should barely even notice when mere weeks had passed, it was nothing, not even a full heartbeat in the life of an immortal being –  his vulnerability around the woman had gotten even stronger; how ironic! 

Perhaps, that was the reason why he felt that it was her behind him, even though he had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the door open, but he heard her steps behind him loud and clear. And truly, who else could it be?

Chloe Decker – _his_ detective would come and find him because she didn’t really have a choice, she was just a piece in His dad’s never ending chess game. He suspected that Chloe might think it was all genuine, that what had happened between them was real, everything except, probably, what had brought her to the hospital: she was a rational, pragmatic woman, she would find an explanation that excluded the divine – and the twisted irony of it wasn’t lost on him.

He turned – and just like he had thought there she was: she looked exhausted, like someone who hadn’t had decent rest for – well, as long as he himself hadn’t, he supposed; she had lost weight that she could not have afforded to lose and she stopped walking as soon as their eyes met. 

Oh, she was angry – he knew that look in her eyes, it wasn’t really different from the one he had seen in his own eyes every morning while looking in the mirror since he had left Los Angeles. She was hurt – and curious, and her cheeks were flushing and he idly wondered whether he would ever stop discovering new things about her, new looks on her face, and he needed to _stop_ thinking along these lines, it was useless. It was – too late anyway.

And yet, he noticed that she was worrying her middle finger like she always did when she was nervous about something _personal._

"Detective, " He said.  He stifled his hands in the pockets of his trousers.  If  it were  one of  the dreams he had been having Chloe would be throwing herself into  his arms,  and things would lead to sex or they would have a _moment,_ but he knew that he was awake _,_ they both were, that was not a bloody dream and Duma had not been an utter wanker after all _:_ he could not smell him on her _._

That was a relief; it was the reason why he had come back, after all, wasn't it? He knew how things would play out, now: she would cover the distance between them and she would slap him or punch him...and perhaps  he deserved it,  she would tell him what a selfish prick he had been, that partners,  friends or whatever they had appeared to be before he had left didn't do those things,  they did not abandon each other.

All true. And he couldn't really tell her the whole truth now,  could he?

She was shivering, which was understandable since there was wind blowing and she was _not_ supposed to even leave her bed!  She was wearing a shirt and jeans and hadn't even bothered to put a jacket on.

His father truly must hate his guts, he thought...because even if her hair was a mess and she was too pale,  she looked...simply breathtaking.

He was waiting for her words now: accusations and recriminations. He would undoubtedly say something _inappropriate_ and he would have to leave. Or she would. 

He had a wife, after all, and none of that had ever been real, hadn't it?

Chloe Decker, however, had surprised him since their very first meeting, it figured that she would continue doing so.

"Why? " She asked.

A step, another,  and he could see clearly the small bruise on her right temple (and he wanted to know or when it had happened).

"I want the truth! " She continued.

He had been prepared to deal with the anger, he had even thought that she could ask that specific question. He hadn’t anticipated that her voice would sound like _that:_ soft, almost as if she was trying hard to hold back tears.

"You look terrible!" She said after a moment when he still had not answered her questions.

He shook his head and couldn’t help smiling a little at her words. Yes, he supposed he didn’t look his best and he truly couldn’t care less at the moment.

“Lucifer, what happened?” She asked.

“It’s complicated, detective.” He replied. He was still smiling, but it was more out of habit than in any way sincere; smiling through anger, through pain, through every betrayal he had faced in his existence was something he was used to; the alternative was simply unthinkable.

What he had told her was the closest he could come to the truth – well, that wasn’t really true; it was the closest he felt comfortable sharing with her. She would not understand, anyway, but even if she did, what difference would it make?

Why couldn't she just hate him like most of the human race anyway?

"Your parents –" Chloe trailed. She was hesitant, eyeing him, gauging his possible reaction almost as if _he_ was fragile.

He took another step toward her; oh, he had missed that physical feeling, the rush he felt when they were so close. He had no troubles recognizing that specific sensation now, perhaps because he had lived without it; it had been almost like an ache he had felt deep down and refused to poke at it.

He felt whole, now. It was a rush, an overwhelming sensation far more addictive than any drug he had tried. And he should know, he had tried them all.

“Amenadiel?” He asked.

She shook her head. They had worked together, they had been partners and he didn’t even pretend and lie to himself thinking that sometimes they truly didn’t need long sentences to understand each other.

Yet, for a reason, he couldn't honestly fathom she smiled and said, "He said it's not his story to tell. At least he didn't lie to me like last time."

“Why aren’t you angry, detective?” He asked. Why did it have to be so difficult? She was supposed to hate him, to feel betrayed – she wasn’t supposed to smile, to ask questions or look so worried for him.

She wasn’t supposed to still care about him. 

“I am – but, I need to understand what the hell is going on!” She said.

He had promised her once he would never lie to her – and he couldn’t break his promise to her, but it was harder than he expected.

“Family drama, detective.” He replied, forcing himself to act casual.

Well, that was the truth – on a cosmic scale, but it all boiled down to that after all.

“I see,” She said, “I left you so many messages, I called you.”

His father, his mother and his siblings could play all the tricks they liked with him, but he still knew how to hurt people.

That was his Father’s gift, after all, therefore he cocked an eyebrow at Chloe’s words and shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive way.

“I – shouldn’t have trusted you.” She said, but she was still looking at him, she still trusted him, despite everything. Her voice didn’t contain the anger he had expected, however. She still sounded like she did in all the messages she had left him.

Was it part of His Father’s plan too?

“You are probably right –“ He said, after a moment. That, too, was the truth.

“That’s it?” She asked, “Why did you come back anyway?” 

She was stepping even closer to him, now and it hurt, not only his cracked ribs, it ran deeper, even the scars on his back itched and burned for a moment. What was going on?

He couldn’t step back from her, he was rooted to the spot, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on hers and he truly hoped His Father was enjoying the bloody show!

“Because it is my fault.” He replied. He hated the truth – he hated that no one could escape The Plan. She didn’t understand and that didn’t surprise him: how could she?

She shook her head, “What – I don’t understand, talk to me, Lucifer!”

How could she understand if he himself didn't if all he knew was that he had been forced to come back to Los Angeles?

She was still shivering and the wind had gotten chillier and she shouldn’t even be there, she shouldn’t have ended up in a bloody hospital to make him come back!

"How can it be your fault? Has it got to do with Carlisle? Did you get in trouble to get the antidote?" She kept asking questions whose answers she wouldn't or couldn't believe anyway, even if he had told her the truth countless times.

She touched him, and – _damn ­–_ Laoel had got really good or, perhaps, His Father wasn’t pulling any punches that time: well, when did He ever with him?

 He saw her – flashes, images, sounds;   past, present and maybe future, he couldn't make out any context and the worst of it was the fear that she might be experiencing the same things too – and bloody hell, no! He couldn't allow that! 

She blinked her eyes and he saw them welling up with tears and he had to make a conscious effort to breathe, for a moment.

Chloe was in front of him: a blonde child with ponytails, a pink dress, a tiara, while she was hanging on her mom’s hand for dear life as she entered a room with her and had her first audition.

They blinked at the same time; he had no clue about what Chloe was seeing, hearing, experiencing but, despite everything, despite the anger at his Father, which had fuelled each and every action and thought for – a very long time, for a moment, just a moment, he found himself thinking (praying?) over and over, “Don’t let her suffer, give _me_ her pain, don’t use her because You’re pissed at me!”

 _Chloe_ , in front of a mirror, slowly getting dressed, she was wearing a black dress, her heart was broken because her father had just been killed and she was getting ready to go to the funeral, there were clippings with pictures from her movie littering the floor. 

 _Chloe_ 's head held up high as she ignored snickers and comments while she trained to become a police officer. The words that hurt the most were not about her boobs out in a movie, but on how her father must have been ashamed of her, how she would never be a real cop.

 _Chloe_ sitting on the lid of her bathtub holding a pregnancy test in her hands, her heart hammering in her chest – she had found she was pregnant less than five minutes before and she was already a mother.

 _Chloe_ holding a gun, walking down an alley, alone because no one wanted to work with her and she had no time to wait for backup.

 _Chloe_ – and him, dancing together and she trusted him, with everything she was and he needed to step back, he needed her to stop touching him, but neither of them could move.

 _Chloe_ – bleeding out on a pavement, was it Lux? She was dying and that could not, would not happen, not as long as he breathed and existed!

She was blinking hard, her breath ragged, and he felt like his head was going to split in two if he did not step back or if she didn't.

"What's happening?" She asked and her voice sounded so far away.

She grabbed him by his shoulders and he had to grind his teeth; he would not cry out in pain, not in front of Chloe or anyone, but she had to stop touching him.

She started when he grabbed her wrists, but had to let her go when she whispered, “you died for me – Maze and Linda…”

He took a step back, and the pain was seriously starting to be a nuisance, “Let it go, detective.” He said. His voice, too, sounded far away.

“You died for me…” She said.

No. That was not good - he wanted her righteous anger, he needed her to move on because nothing good could come out of it.

“I got better. And I left because I had to. Oh, by the way, I got married!” He said.

She stepped back. He was the devil, he could be an arsehole and hurt people with the truth – even those he cared about. Chloe would get over it, she would live her life – it hadn’t been real, she would –

His thoughts came to a halt when she stepped back. He had expected to be slapped at those words, he _wanted_ her anger – but Chloe stepped back as if she was the one being slapped.

Her eyes went to his hands and she finally noticed the gold band on his left ring finger. She nodded her head slowly and he clearly saw the way her gaze hardened, the walls coming back up; it was what he had wanted, one of the reasons why he had left   
Los Angeles and married the first woman he had met.

“I see.” She said, “but it still doesn’t explain what happened and why you look like hell.”

“It doesn’t matter. You are safe, now.” He said. It hurt to move, but he did, he walked past her – and if Chloe looked around she would probably notice how the wall behind her was cracked.

“Safe from what?” She asked.

"My father – my family." He answered, looking at h3er. He lingered for a moment longer; once he left that rooftop, things would become real: he was married, he had made a promise, therefore he would have to stick to it.

 Perhaps, Linda was right – had always been right: he had never lied to Chloe, but he hadn’t been completely honest either; he could have shown her his eyes, his face, but he hadn’t. And he wouldn’t now, it didn’t matter any longer.

Chloe had other questions despite the anger and the fact that he had just hurt her, he pretended not to notice the inquisitive look on her face or the betrayal in her eyes as he said, “Take care, detective.”

“I don’t believe you –“ She said.

He was at the door when she said those words, he stopped for a moment and said, “You never did,” He smiled at her and he wondered, who, exactly, he was trying to hurt.

Both of them, he suspected.

He shivered, as he walked down the stairs, the scars on his back, right where his wings used to be itched and burned, he was sure that Azrael was behind him, he was sure that she was looking at him.

He truly wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of his siblings at the moment, least of all the angel of death.

If his sister wanted him, she’d know where and when to find him. He doubted it would be to have just a chat, but he couldn’t say he particularly cared. Not in that moment.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
